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THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE. 


STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE 


BY 


GEORGE  HENRY  LEWES. 

\ ■;  V 


(Abridged  from  his  “Life  and  Works  of  Goethe/’) 


BOSTON : 

HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY. 

d)*  Etoermue  |Dree0,  Camiirttoge. 

1880. 


PREFACE. 


It  has  been  represented  to  me,  by  my  friend  the  publisher, 
that  there  are  many  readers  who  may  feel  considerable  inter- 
est in  the  story  of  a great  poet’s  life  and  aims,  though  they 
are  not  greatly  attracted  by  criticisms  and  details  in  relation 
to  works  written  in  a foreign  language  and  but  partially  acces- 
sible through  translations.  In  compliance  with  this  sugges- 
tion, I have  detached  from  my  Life  of  Goethe  a continuous 
narrative,  which  will  present  the  outward  events  of  an  ever- 
memorable  career,  and  indicate  the  leading  characteristics  of 
an  immortal  genius. 

The  present  volume  is  in  no  sense  intended  to  replace  the 
original  Biography,  which  will  probably  continue  to  have  the 
greater  interest  for  readers  whose  tastes  and  acquirements  lie 
in  the  direction  of  German  literature. 

The  Priory,  November,  1872. 


f 


CONTENTS. 


Preface 


Page 

vii 


BOOK  THE  FIRST. 
1749  to  1765. 


Chapter 

1 I.  Parentage 11 

f II.  The  Precocious  Child 19 

III.  Various  Studies 34 


IV.  The  Child  is  Father  to  the  Man  ....  42 


BOOK  THE  SECOND. 


y 

1. 

11. 


1765  to  1771. 


The  Leipsic  Student  . 
Art  Studies  . 

Return  Home 
Strasburg 

Herder  and  Frederika 


BOOK  THE  THIRD. 

1771  to  1775. 

I.  Dr.  Goethe’s  Return  .... 

II.  Wetzlar  ....... 

III.  Preparations  for  Werther 

IV.  The  Literary  Lion  .... 

V.  Lili  . v 


46 

53 

6l 

74 


92 

102 

ii5 

140 

147 


X 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK  '’’HE  FOURTH. 

^ 1775  to  1779. 

I.  Weimar  in  the  Eighteenth  Century  . . . .156 

II.  The  First  Wild  Weeks  at  Weimar.  . . . 177 

III.  The  Frau  von  Stein  .......  192 

IV.  Private  Theatricals 199 

V.  Many-colored  Threads 206 

VI.  The  Real  Philanthropist 214 


BOOK  THE  FIFTH. 

1779  to  1793. 


I.  New  Birth 231 

II.  Preparations  for  Italy 247 

III.  Italy 255 

IV.  Return  Home  . 262 

V.  Christiane  Vulpius  . ...  . . . . 269 

VI.  The  Poet  as  a Man  of  Science  ....  275 

VII.  The  Campaign  in  France 319 


BOOK  THE  SIXTH. 

1794  to  1805. 

I.  Goethe  and  Schiller  .... 

II.  The  Romantic  School 

III.  Schiller’s  Last  Years  .... 

BOOK  THE  SEVENTH. 

1805  to  1832. 

I.  The  Battle  of  Jena 355 

Goethe’s  Wife 360 

III.  Bettina  and  Napoleon  364 

IV.  Politics  and  Religion 376 

V.  The  Activity  of  Age 386 

VI.  The  Closing  Scenes 395 


• 323 

• 338 

• 344 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE 


BOOK  THE  FIRST. 

1749  TO  1765. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PARENTAGE. 

Quintus  Curtius  tells  us  that,  in  certain  seasons,  Bactria 
was  darkened  by  whirlwinds  of  dust,  which  completely 
covered  and  concealed  the  roads.  Left  thus  without  their 
usual  landmarks,  the  wanderers  awaited  the  rising  of  the 
stars,  — 

“ To  light  them  on  their  dim  and  perilous  way.” 

May  we  not  say  the  same  of  Literature?  From  time  to 
time  its  pathways  are  so  obscured  beneath  the  rubbish  of  the 
age,  that  many  a footsore  pilgrim  seeks  in  vain  the  hidden 
route.  In  such  times  it  may  be  well  to  imitate  the  Bactri- 
ans  : ceasing  to  look  upon  the  confusions  of  the  day,  and 
turning  our  gaze  upon  the  great  Immortals  who  have  gone 
before,  we  may  seek  guidance  from  their  light.  In  all  ages 
the  biographies  of  great  men  have  been  fruitful  in  lessons ; 
in  all  ages  they  have  been  powerful  stimulants  to  a noble 
ambition;. in  all  ages  they  have  been  regarded  as  armories 
wherein  are  gathered  the  weapon?  with  which  great  battles 
have  been  won. 


12 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE1  S LIFE.  [hook  i. 


There  may  be  some  among  my  readers  who  will  dispute 
Goethe’s  claim  to  greatness.  They  will  admit  that  he  was 
a great  poet,  but  deny  that  he  was  a great  man.  In  deny- 
ing it,  they  will  set  forth  the  qualities  which  constitute  their 
ideal  of  greatness,  and  finding  him  deficient  in  some  of  these 
qualities,  will  dispute  his  claim.  But  in  awarding  him  that 
title,  I do  not  mean  to  imply  that  he  was  an  ideal  man  ; I 
do  not  present  him  as  the  exemplar  of  all  greatness.  No 
man  can  be  such  an  exemplar.  Humanity  reveals  itself  in 
fragments.  One  man  is  the  embodiment  of  one  kind  of 
excellence,  another  of  another.  Achilles  wins  the  victory, 
and  Homer  immortalizes  it : we  bestow  the  laurel  crown 
on  both.  In  virtue  of  a genius  such  as  modern  times  have 
only  seen  equalled  once  or  twice,  Goethe  deserves  the  epithet 
of  great.  Nor  is  it  in  virtue  of  genius  alone  that  he  deserves 
the  title.  Merck  said  of  him  that  what  he  lived  was  more 
beautiful  than  what  he  wrote ; and  his  life,  amid  all  its 
weaknesses  and  all  its  errors,  presents  a picture  of  a certain 
grandeur  of  soul,  which  cannot  be  contemplated  unmoved. 
I shall  make  no  attempt  to  conceal  his  faults.  Let  them  be 
dealt  with  as  harshly  as  severest  justice  may  dictate,  they 
will  not  eclipse  the  central  light  that  shines  throughout 
his  life.  And  without  wishing  to  excuse  or  to  conceal 
faults  which  he  assuredly  had,  we  must  always  bear  in  mind 
that  the  faults  of  a celebrated  man  are  apt  to  carry  an  undue 
emphasis  : they  are  thrown  into  stronger  relief  by  the  very 
splendor  of  his  fame.  Had  Goethe  never  written  Faust,  no 
one  would  have  heard  that  he  was  an  inconstant  lover,  and 
a tepid  politician.  His  glory  immortalizes  his  shame.  • 

In  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century  the  little  town 
of  Artern,  in  the  Grafschaft  of  Mansfeld,  in  Thuringia,  num- 
bered among  its  scanty  inhabitants  a farrier,  by  name  Hans 
Christian  Goethe.  His  son  Frederick,  being  probably  of  a 


749  J 


PARENTAGE. 


13 


more  meditative  turn,  selected  a more  meditative  employment 
than  that  of  shoeing  horses  : he  became  a tailor.  Having 
passed  an  apprenticeship,  he  commenced  his  wanderings,  in  the 
course  of  which  he  reached  Frankfurt.  Here  he  soon  found 
employment,  and  being,  as  we  learn,  “ a ladies’  man,”  he  soon 
also  found  a wife.  The  master  tailor,  Sebastian  Lutz,  gave 
him  his  daughter  on  his  admission  to  the  citizenship  of  Frank- 
furt and  to  the  guild  of  tailors.  This  was  in  1687.  Several 
children  were  born,  and  vanished  ; in  1700  his  wife,  too,  van- 
ished, to  be  replaced,  five  years  afterwards,  by  Frau  Cornelia 
Schellhorn,  the  daughter  of  another  tailor,  Georg  Walter ; she 
was  then  a widow,  blooming  with  six-and-thirty  summers,  and 
possessing  the  solid  attractions  of  a good  property,  namely, 
the  hotel  “Zum  Weidenhof,”  where  her  new  husband  laid 
down  the  scissors,  and  donned  the  landlord’s  apron.  He 
had  two  sons  by  her,  and  died  in  1730,  aged  seventy-three. 

Of  these  two  sons,  the  younger,  Johann  Caspar,  was  the 
father  of  our  poet.  Thus  we  see  that  Goethe,  like  Schiller, 
sprang  from  the  people.  He  makes  no  mention  of  the  lucky 
tailor,  nor  of  the  Thuringian  farrier,  in  his  autobiography. 
This  silence  may  be  variously  interpreted.  At  first,  I im- 
agined it  was  aristocratic  prudery  on  the  part  of  von  Goethe, 
minister  and  nobleman ; but  it  is  never  well  to  put  ungen- 
erous constructions,  when  others,  equally  plausible  and  more 
honorable,  are  ready ; let  us  rather  follow  the  advice  of  Sir 
Arthur  Helps,  and  “ employ  our  imagination  in  the  service  of 
charity.”  We  can  easily  imagine  that  Goethe  was  silent  about 
the  tailor,  because,  having  never  known  him,  there  was  none 
of  that  affectionate  remembrance  which  encircles  the  objects 
of  early  life,  to  make  this  grandfather  figure  in  the  autobiog- 
raphy beside  the  grandfather  Textor,  who  was  known  and 
loved.  Probably,  also,  the  tailor  was  seldom  talked  of  in  the 
parental  circle.  There  is  a peculiar  and  indelible  ridicule 


14 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [kook  i. 


attached  to  the  idea  of  a tailor  in  Germany,  which  often  pre- 
vents people  of  much  humbler  pretensions  than  Goethe  from 
whispering  their  connection  with  such  a trade.  Goethe  does 
mention  this  grandfather  in  the  Second  Book  of  his  Autobi- 
ography^ and  tells  us  how  he  was  teased  by  the  taunts  of  boys 
respecting  his  humble  parentage ; these  taunts  even  went  so 
far  as  to  imply  that  he  might  possibly  have  had  several  grand- 
fathers ; and  he  began  to  speculate  on  the  possibility  of  some 
latent  ari&tocracy  in  his  descent.  This  made  him  examine 
,with  some  curiosity  the  portraits  of  noblemen,  to  try  and  de- 
tect a likeness. 

Johann  Caspar  Goethe  received  a good  education,  trav- 
elled into  Italy,  became  an  imperial  councillor  in  Frankfurt, 
and  married,  in  1748,  Katharina  Elizabeth,  daughter  of 
Johann  Wolfgang  Textor,  the  chief  magistrate  ( Schultheiss ).* 

Goethe’s  father  was  a cold,  stern,  formal,  somewhat  pedan- 
tic, but  truth-loving,  upright-minded  man.  He  hungered  for 
knowledge ; and,  although  in  general  of  a laconic  turn,  freely 
imparted  all  he  learned.  In  his  domestic  circle  his  word  was 
law.  Not  only  imperious,  but  in  some  respects  capricious,  he 
was,  nevertheless,  greatly  respected,  if  little  loved,  by  wife, 
children,  and  friends.  He  is  characterized  by  Krause  as  ein 
geradliniger  Frankfurter  Reichsburger , — “a  formal  Frankfurt 
citizen,”  whose  habits  were  as  measured  as  his  gait.f  From 

* The  family  of  Textor  and  Weber  exist  to  this  day,  and  under  both 
names,  in  the  Hohenlohe  territory.  Karl  Julius  Weber,  the  humorous 
author  of  Democritus  and  of  the  Briefe  ernes  in  Deutschland  reisenden 
Deutschen , was  a member  of  it.  In  the  description  of  the  Jubilceum  of 
the  Nurnberg  University  of  Altorf,  in  1723,  mention  is  made  of  one 
Joannes  Guolfgangus  Textor  as  a bygone  ornament  of  the  faculty  of  law ; 
and  Mr.  Demmler,  to  whom  I am  indebted  for  these  particulars,  suggests 
the  probability  of  this  being  the  same  John  Wolfgang  who  died  as  Ober- 
biirgermeister  in  Frankfurt,  1701. 

1 Perhaps  geradliniger  might  be  translated  as  “ an  old  square-toes,” 


PARENTAGE. 


15 


1 749-] 

him  the  poet  inherited  the  well-built  frame,  the  erect  carriage, 
and  the  measured  movement  which  in  old  age  became  stiff- 
ness, and  was  construed  as  diplomacy  or  haughtiness ; fro& 
him  also  came  that  orderliness  and  stoicism  which  have  so 
much  distressed  those  who  cannot  conceive  genius  otherwise 
than  as  vagabond  in  its  habits.  The  craving  for  knowledge, 
the  delight  in  communicating  it,  the  almost  pedantic  attention 
to  details,  which  are  noticeable  in  the  poet,  are  all  traceable 
in  the  father. 

The  mother  was  more  like  what  we  conceive  as  the  proper 
parent  for  a poet.  She  is  one  of  the  pleasantest  figures  in 
German  literature,  and  one  standing  out  with  greater  vivid- 
ness than  almost  any  other.  Her  simple,  hearty,  joyous,  and 
affectionate  nature  endeared  her  to  all.  She  was  the  delight 
of  children,  the  favorite  of  poets  and  princes.  To  the  last 
retaining  her  enthusiasm  and  simplicity,  mingled  with  great 
shrewdness  and  knowledge  of  character,  Frau  Aja,  as  they 
christened  her,  was  at  once  grave  and  hearty,  dignified  and 
simple.  She  had  read  most  of  the  best  German  and  Italian 
authors,  had  picked  up  considerable  desultory  information, 
and  had  that  “ mother  wit  ” which  so  often  in  women  and 
poets  seems  to  render  culture  superfluous,  their  rapid  intui- 
tions anticipating  the  tardy  conclusions  of  experience.  Her 
letters  are  full  of  spirit : not  always  strictly  grammatical ; not 
irreproachable  in  spelling ; but  vigorous  and  vivacious.  Af- 
ter a lengthened  interview  with  her,  an  enthusiast  exclaimed, 
“ Now  do  I understand  how  Goethe  has  become  the  man  he 
is ! ” * Wieland,  Merck,  Biirger,  Madame  de  Stael,  Karl  Au- 

having  reference  to  the  antiquated  cut  of  the  old  man’s  clothes.  The 
fathers  of  the  present  generation  dubbed  the  stiff  coat  of  their  grand- 
fathers, with  its  square  skirts  and  collars,  by  the  name  of  magister  via- 
theseos,  the  name  by  which  the  Pythagorean  proposition  is  known  in 
Germany. 

* Ephemeriden  der  Literatur,  quoted  in  Nicolovius  iibcr  Goethe. 


1 6 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  i. 


gust,  and  other  great  people  sought  her  acquaintance.  The 
Duchess  Amalia  corresponded  with  her  as  with  an  intimate 
friend  ; and  her  letters  were  welcomed  eagerly  at  the  Weimar 
Court.  She  was  married  at  seventeen  to  a man  for  whom 
she  had  no  love,  and  was  only  eighteen  when  the  poet  was 
born.*  This,  instead  of  making  her  prematurely  old,  seems 
to  have  perpetuated  her  girlhood.  “ I and  my  Wolfgang,” 
she  said,  “ have  always  held  fast  to  each  other,  because  we 
were  both  young  together.”  To  him  she  transmitted  her  love 
of  story-telling,  her  animal  spirits,  her  love  of  everything 
which  bore  the  stamp  of  distinctive  individuality,  and  her 
love  of  seeing  happy  faces  around  her.  “ Order  and  quiet,” 
she  says  in  one  of  her  charming  letters  to  Freiherr  von  Stein, 
“ are  my  principal  characteristics.  Hence  I despatch  at  once 
whatever  I have  to  do,  the  most  disagreeable  always  first,  and 
I gulp  down  the  devil  without  looking  at  him.  When  all  has 
returned  to  its  proper  state,  then  I defy  any  one  to  surpass 
me  in  good-humor.”  Her  heartiness  and  tolerance  are  the 
causes,  she  thinks,  why  every  one  likes  her.  “ I am  fond  of 
people,  and  that  every  one  feels  directly,  young  and  old.  I 
pass  without  pretension  through  the  world,  and  that  gratifies 
men.  I never  bemoralize  any  one,  — always  seek  out  the  good 
that  is  in  themy  arid  leave  what  is  bad  to  him  who  made  man - 
kind,  and  knows  how  to  round  off  the  angles.  In  this  way  I 
make  myself  happy  and  comfortable.”  Who  does  not  recog- 
nize the  son  in  those  accents  ? One  of  the  kindliest  of  men 
inherited  his  loving  happy  nature  from  one  of  the  heartiest  of 
women. 

He  also  inherited  from  her  his  dislike  of  unnecessary 
emotion  : that  deliberate  avoidance  of  all  things  capable  of 
disturbing  his  peace  of  mind,  which  has  been  construed  as 

* Lovers  of  parallels  may  be  reminded  that  Napoleon’s  mother  was 
only  eighteen  when  he  was  born. 


PARENTAGE. 


1 7 


1749-1 

coldness.  Her  sunny  nature  shrank  from  storms.  She 
stipulated  with  her  servants  that  they  were  not  to  trouble 
her  with  afflicting  news,  except  upon  some  positive  necessity 
for  the  communication.  In  1805,  when  her  son  was  danger- 
ously ill  at  Weimar,  no  one  ventured  to  speak  to  her  on  the 
subject.  Not  until  he  had  completely  recovered  did  she 
voluntarily  enter  on  it.  “ I knew  it  all,”  she  remarked, 
“ but  said  nothing.  Now  we  can  talk  about  him  without  my 
feeling  a stab  every  time  his  name  is  mentioned.” 

In  this  voluntary  insulation  from  disastrous  intelligence 
there  is  something  so  antagonistic  to  the  notorious  craving 
for  excitement  felt  by  the  Teutonic  races,  something  so  unlike 
the  morbid  love  of  intellectual  drams,  — the  fierce  alcohol  of 
emotion  with  which  we  intoxicate  ourselves,  — that  it  is  no 
wonder  if  Goethe  has  on  this  account  been  accused  of  insen- 
sibility. Yet,  in  truth,  a very  superficial  knowledge  of  his 
nature  suffices  to  show  that  it  was  not  from  coldness  he 
avoided  indulgence  in  the  “luxury  of  woe.”  It  was  excess 
of  sensibility,  not  want  of  sympathy.  His  delicate  nature 
shrank  from  the  wear  and  tear  of  excitement.  That  which 
to  coarser  natures  would  have  been  only  a stimulus,  was  to 
him  a disturbance.  It  is  doubtless  the  instinct  of  an  emo- 
tional nature  to  seek  such  stimulants  ; but  his  reason  was 
strong  ertough  to  keep  this  instinct  under  control.  Falk 
relates  that  when  Goethe  heard  he  had  looked  upon  Wieland 
in  death,  “ and  thereby  procured  myself  a miserable  evening, 
and  worse  night,  he  vehemently  reproved  me  for  it.  ‘ Why,’ 
said  he,  ‘should  I suffer  the  delightful  impression  of  the 
features  of  my  friend  to  be  obliterated  by  the  sight  of  a dis- 
figured mask  ? I carefully  avoided  seeing  Schiller,  Herder, 
or  the  Duchess  Amalia  in  the  coffin.  I,  for  my  part,  desire 
to  retain  in  my  memory  a picture  of  my  departed  friends 
more  full  of  soul  than  the  mere  mask  can  furnish  me.’” 


i8 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  i. 


This  subjection  of  the  instinct  of  curiosity  to  the  dictates 
of  reason  is  not  coldness.  There  is  danger,  indeed,  of  carry- 
ing it  too  far,  and  of  coddling  the  mind  ; but  into  this  extreme 
neither  Goethe  nor  his  mother  can  be  said  to  have  fallen. 
At  any  rate,  let  the  reader  pronounce  what  judgment  he 
thinks  fit,  it  is  right  that  he  should  at  the  outset  distinctly 
understand  it  to  be  a characteristic  of  the  man.  The  self- 
mastery  it  implies  forms  the  keystone  of  his  character.  In 
him  the  emotive  was  subjected  to  the  intellectual.  He  was 
“ king  over  himself.”  He,  as  he  tells  us,  found  men  eager 
enough  to  lord  it  over  others,  while  indifferent  whether  they 
could  rule  themselves  — 

**  Das  wollen  alle  Herren  seyn, 

Und  keiner  ist  Herr  von  sich  ! ” 

He  made  it  his  study  to  subdue  into  harmonious  unity  the 
rebellious  impulses  which  incessantly  threatened  the  suprem- 
acy of  reason.  Here,  on  the  threshold  of  his  career,  let 
attention  be  called  to  this  cardinal  characteristic  : his  foot- 
steps were  not  guided  by  a light  tremulous  in  every  gust, 
liable  to  fall  to  the  ground  amid  the  hurrying  agitation  of 
vulgar  instincts,  but  a torch  grasped  by  an  iron  will,  and 
lifted  high  above  the  currents  of  those  lower  gusts,  shedding 
a continuous  steady  gleam  across  the  path.  I do  not  say  he 
never  stumbled.  At  times  the  clamorous  agitation  of  rebel- 
lious passions  misled  him  as  it  misleads  others ; but  viewing 
his  life  as  it  disposes  itself  into  the  broad  masses  necessary 
for  a characteristic  appreciation,  I say  that  in  him,  more  than 
in  almost  any  other  man  of  his  time,  naked  vigor  of  resolu- 
tion, moving  in  alliance  with  steady  clearness  of  intellect, 
produced  a self-mastery  of  the  very  highest  kind.* 

* “ All  I have  had  to  do  I have  done  in  kingly  fashion,”  he  said  ; “ I 
let  tongues  wag  as  they  pleased.  What  I saw  to  be  the  right  thing,  that 
I did.” 


*755-1 


THE  PRECOCIOUS  CHILD. 


19 


This  he  owed  partly  to  his  father  and  partly  to  his  mother. 
It  was  from  the  latter  he  derived  those  characteristics  which 
determined  the  movement  and  orbit  of  his  artistic  nature ; 
her  joyous,  healthy  temperament,  humor, -fancy,  and  suscep- 
tibility were,  in  him,  creative,  owing  to  the  marvellous  insight 
which  gathered  up  the  scattered  and  vanishing  elements  of 
experience  into  new  and  living  combinations. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  PRECOCIOUS  CHILD. 

Johann  Wolfgang  Goethe  was  born  on  the  28th  Am 
gust,  1749,  as  the  clock  sounded  the  hour  of  noon,  in  the 
busy  town  of  Frankfurt-on-the-Maine.  The  busy  town,  as 
may  be  supposed,  was  quite  heedless  of  what  was  then  pass- 
ing in  the  corner  of  that  low,  heavy-beamed  room  in  the 
Grosse  Hirsch-graben,  where  an  infant,  black,  and  almost  life- 
less, was  watched  with  agonizing  anxiety,  — an  anxiety  dis- 
solving into  tears  of  joy,  as  the  aged  grandmother  exclaimed 
to  the  pale  mother,  “ Rathin  er  lebt ! he  lives  ! ” 

It  is  not  the  biographer’s  province  to  write  a history  of  an 
epoch  while  telling  the  story  of  a life  ; but  some  historical 
indication  is  necessary,  in  order  that  the  time  and  place 
should  be  vividly  before  the  reader’s  mind  ; and  perhaps  the 
readiest  way  to  call  up  such  a picture  in  a paragraph  will  be  to 
mention  some  of  the  “ notables  ” of  that  period,  and  at  what 
points  in  their  career  they  hid  arrived.  In  that  very  month 
of  August,  Madame  du  Chatelet,  the  learned  translator  of 
Newton,  the  loving  but  hot-tempered  Uranie  of  Voltaire,  died 
in  childbed,  leaving  him  without  a companion,  and  without  a 


20 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  i. 


counsellor  to  prevent  his  going  to  the  court  of  Frederick  the 
Great.  In  that  year  Rousseau  was  seen  in  the  brilliant  circle 
of  Madame  d’Epinay,  disputing  with  the  Encyclopedists,  de- 
claiming eloquently  on  the  sacredness  of  maternity,  and 
going  home  to  cast  his  new-born  infant  into  the  basket  of  the 
Foundling  Hospital.  In  that  year  Samuel  Johnson  was  toil- 
ing manfully  over  his  English  dictionary ; Gibbon  was  at 
Westminster,  trying  with  unsuccessful  diligence  to  master  the 
Greek  and  Latin  rudiments  ; Goldsmith  was  delighting  the 
Tony  Lumpkins  of  his  district,  and  the  “ wandering  bear- 
leaders of  genteeler  sort,”  with  his  talents,  and  enjoying  that 
“careless  idleness  of  fireside  and  easy-chair,”  and  that 
“ tavern  excitement  of  the  game  of  cards  to  which  he  looked 
back  so  wistfully  from  his  first  hard  London  struggles.”  In 
that  year  Buffon,  whose  scientific  greatness  Goethe  was  one 
of  the  first  to  perceive,  produced  the  first  volume  of  his  His- 
toire  Naturelle.  Haller  was  at  Gottingen  performing*  those 
experiments  on  Sensibility  and  Irritability  which  were  to  im- 
mortalize him.  John  Hunter,  who  had  recently  left  Scotland, 
joined  Cheselden  at  the  Chelsea  Hospital.  Mirabeau  and 
Alfieri  were  tyrants  in  their  nurseries ; and  Marat  was  an 
innocent  boy  of  five  years  old,  toddling  about  in  the  Val  de 
Travers,  unmolested  as  yet  by  the  wickedness  of  “ les  aristo- 
crats.” 

If  these  names  have  helped  to  call  up  the  period,  we  must 
seek  in  Goethe’s  own  pages  for  a picture  of  the  place.  He 
has  painted  the  city  of  Frankfurt  as  one  who  loved  it.  No 
city  in  Germany  was  better  fitted  for  the  birthplace  of  this 
cosmopolitan  poet.  It  was  rich  in  speaking  memorials  of 
the  past,  remnants  of  old  German  life,  lingering  echoes  of 
the  voices  which  sounded  through  the  Middle  Ages : such  as 
a town  within  a town,  the  fortress  within  a fortress,  the  walled 
cloisters,  the  various  symbolical  ceremonies  still  preserved 


THE  PRECOCIOUS  CHILD. 


2 7 


I755-] 

they  learn,  and  they  invent  In  men  of  the  highest  class 
these  two  qualities  are  united.  Shakespeare  and  Goethe  are 
not  less  remarkable  for  the  variety  of  their  knowledge,  than 
for  the  activity  of  their  invention.  But  as  we  call  the  child 
clever  who  learns  his  lessons  rapidly,  and  the  child  clever 
who  shows  wit,  sagacity,  and  invention,  this  ambiguity  of 
phrase  has  led  to  surprise  when  the  child  who  was  “so 
clever  ” at  school,  turns  out  a mediocre  man  ; or,  conversely, 
when  the  child  who  was  a dunce  at  school  turns  out  a man 
of  genius.  Goethe’s  precocity  was  nothing  abnormal.  It 
was  the  activity  of  a mind  at  once  greatly  receptive  and 
greatly  productive. 

Other  boys,  besides  Goethe,  heard  the  Lisbon  earthquake 
eagerly  discussed ; but  they  had  not  their  religious  doubts 
awakened  by  it,  as  his  were  awakened  in  his  sixth  year. 
This  catastrophe,  which,  in  1755,  spread  consternation  over 
Europe,  he  has  described  as  having  greatly  perturbed  him. 
The  narratives  he  heard  of  a magnificent  capital  suddenly 
smitten  — churches,  houses,  towers  falling  with  a crash, 
the  bursting  land  vomiting  flames  and  smoke,  and  sixty 
thousand  souls  perishing  in  an  instant  — shook  his  faith 
in  the  beneficence  of  Providence.  “ God,  the  creator  and 
preserver  of  heaven  and  earth,”  he  says,  “ whom  the  first 
article  of  our  creed  declared  to  be  so  wise  and  benignant, 
had  not  displayed  paternal  care  in  thus  consigning  both 
the  just  and  the  unjust  to  the  same  destruction.  In  vain 
my  young  mind  strove  to  resist  these  impressions.  It  w?as 
impossible  ; the  more  so  as  the  wise  and  religious  therm 
selves  could  not  agree  upon  the  view  to  be  taken  of  the 
event.” 

We  are  not,  however,  to  suppose  that  the  child  rushed  has- 
tily to  such  a conclusion.  He  debated  it  in  his  own  mind  as 
he  heard  it  debated  around  him.  Bettina  records  that  on 


2 8 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE  yS  LIFE.  [book  i. 


his  coming  one  day  from  church,  where  he  had  listened  to  a 
sermon  on  the  subject,  in  which  God’s  goodness  was  justi- 
fied, his  father  asked  him  what  impression  the  sermon  had 
made.  “ Why,”  said  he,  “ it  may  after  all  be  a much  simpler 
matter  than  the  clergyman  thinks  ; God  knows  very  well 
that  an  immortal  soul  can  receive  no  injury  from  a mortal 
accident.” 

Doubts  once  raised  would  of  course  recur,  and  the  child 
began  to  settle  into  a serious  disbelief  in  the  benignity  of 
Providence,  learning  to  consider  God  as  the  wrathful  Deity  de- 
picted by  the  Hebrews.  This  was  strengthened  by  the  foolish 
conduct  of  those  around  him,  who,  on  the  occasion  of  a ter- 
rible thunder-storm  which  shattered  the  windows,  dragged 
him  and  his  sister  into  a dark  passage,  “where  the  whole 
household,  distracted  with  fear,  tried  to  conciliate  the  angry 
Deity  by  frightful  groans  and  prayers.” 

The  doubts  which  troubled  Wolfgang  gradually  subsided. 
In  his  family  circle  he  was  the  silent  reflective  listener  to 
constant  theological  debates.  The  various  sects  separating 
from  the  established  church  all  seemed  to  be  animated  by 
the  one  desire  of  approaching  the  Deity,  especially  through 
Christ,  more  nearly  than  seemed  possible  through  the  ancient 
forms.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he,  also,  might  make  such  an 
approach,  and  in  a more  direct  way.  Unable  to  ascribe  a 
form  to  the  Deity,  he  “ resolved  to  seek  him  in  his  works, 
and  in  the  good  old  Bible  fashion,  to  build  an  altar  to  him.” 
For  this  purpose  he  selected  some  types,  such  as  ores  and 
other  natural  productions,  and  arranged  them  in  symbolical 
order  on  the  elevations  of  a music-stand ; on  the  apex  was 
to  be  a flame  typical  of  the  soul’s  aspiration,  and  for  this  a 
pastille  did  duty.  Sunrise  was  awaited  with  impatience. 
The  glittering  of  the  house-tops  gave  signal ; he  applied 
a burning-glass  to  the  pastille,  and  thus  was  the  worship  con- 


THE  PRECOCIOUS  CHILD. 


1756-1 


29 


summated  by  a priest  of  seven  years  old,  alone  in  his  bed- 
room ! * 

Lest  the  trait  just  cited  should  make  us  forget  that  we  are 
tracing  the  career  of  a child,  it  may  be  well  to  recall  the  an- 
ecdote related  by  Bettina,  who  had  it  from  his  mother ; it  will 
serve  to  set  us  right  as  to  the  childishness.  One  day  his  moth- 
er, seeing  him  from  her  window  cross  the  street  with  his  com- 
rades, was  amused  with  the  gravity  of  his  carriage,  and  asked 
laughingly,  if  he  meant  thereby  to  distinguish  himself  from 
his  companions.  The  little  fellow  replied,  “ I begin  with  this. 
Later  on  in  life  I shall  distinguish  myself  in  far  other  ways.” 

On  another  occasion,  he  plagued  her  with  questions  as  to 
whether  the  stars  would  perform  all  they  had  promised  at 
his  birth.  “Why,”  said  she,  “must  you  have  the  assistance 
of  the  stars,  when  other  people  get  on  very  well  without  ? ” 
“ I am  not  to  be  satisfied  with  what  does  for  other  people  ! ” 
said  the  juvenile  Jupiter. 

He  had  just  attained  his  seventh  year  when  the  Seven 
Years’  War  broke  out.  His  grandfather  espoused  the  cause 
of  Austria,  his  father  that  of  Frederick.  This  difference  of 
opinion  brought  with  it  contentions,  and  finally  separation 
between  the  families.  The  exploits  of  the  Prussian  army 
were  enthusiastically  cited  on  the  one  side  and  depreciated 
on  the  other.  It  was  an  all-absorbing  topic,  awakening  pas- 
sionate partisanship.  Men  looked  with  strange  feelings  on 
the  struggle  which  the  greatest  captain  of  his  age  was  main- 
taining against  Russia,  Austria,  and  France.  The  ruler  of 
not  more  than  five  millions  of  men  was  fighting  unaided 
against  the  rulers  of  more  than  a hundred  millions  ; and,  in 
spite  of  his  alleged  violation  of  honor,  it  was  difficult  to  hear 

* A similar  anecdote  is  related  of  himself  by  that  strange  romancist, 
once  the  idol  of  his  day,  and  now  almost  entirely  forgotten,  Restif  de  la 
Bretonne.  See  Les  Illumines , par  Gerard  de  Nerval. 


30 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  i 


without  enthusiasm  of  his  brilliant  exploits.  Courage  and 
genius  in  desperate  circumstances  always  awaken  sympathy; 
and  men  paused  not  to  ask  what  justification  there  was  for 
the  seizure  of  Silesia,  nor  why  the  Saxon  standards  drooped 
heavily  in  the  churches  of  Berlin.  The  roar  of  victorious 
cannon  stunned  the  judgment ; the  intrepid  general  was 
blindly  worshipped.  The  Seven  Years’  War  soon  became  a 
German  epos.  Archenholtz  wrote  its  history  (1791);  and 
this  work  — noisy  with  guard-room  bragging  and  folly,  the 
rant  of  a miles  gloriosus  turned  philosophe — was  nevertheless 
received  with  enthusiasm,  was  translated  into  Latin,  and  read 
in  schools  in  company  with' Tacitus  and  Caesar. 

This  Seven  Years’  War  was  a circumstance  from  which,  as 
it  is  thought,  Goethe  ought  to  have  received  some  epic  in- 
spiration. He  received  from  it  precisely  that  which  was  food 
to  his  character.  He  caught  the  grand  enthusiasm,  but,  as 
he  says,  it  was  the  personality  of  the  hero,  rather  than  the 
greatness  of  his  cause,  which  made  him  rejoice  in  every  vic- 
tory, copy  the  songs  of  triumph,  and  the  lampoons  directed 
against  Austria.  He  learned  now  the  effects  of  party  spirit. 
At  the  table  of  his  grandfather  he  had  to  hear  galling  sar- 
casms, and  vehement  declamations  showered  on  his  hero. 
He  heard  Frederick  “shamefully  slandered.”  “And  as  in  my 
sixth  year,  after  the  Lisbon  earthquake,  I doubted  the  benefi- 
cence of  Providence,  so  now,  on  account  of  Frederick,  I 
began  to  doubt  the  justice  of  the  world.” 

Over  the  doorway  of  the  house  in  which  he  was  born  were 
a lyre  and  a star,  announcing,  as  every  interpreter  will  certify, 
that  a poet  was  to  make  that  house  illustrious.  The  poetic 
faculty  early  manifested  itself.  We  have  seen  him  inventing 
conclusions  for  his  mother’s  stories ; and  as  he  grew  older, 
he  began  to  invent  stories  for  the  amusement  of  his  play- 
fellows, after  he  had  filled  his  mind  with  images,  — 


I756-J 


THE  PRECOCIOUS  CHILD. 


31 


“Lone  sitting  on  the  shores  of  old  Romance.” 

He  had  read  the  Orb  is  Pictus , Ovid’s  Metamorphoses , Homer’s 
Iliad  in  prose,  Virgil  in  the  original,  Telemachus , Robinson 
Crusoe , Anson’s  Voyages , with  such  books  as  Fortunatus,  The 
Wandering  Jew,  The  Four  Sons  of  Aymon,  etc.  He  also 
read  and  learned  by  heart  most  of  the  poets  of  that  day  : 
Gellert,  Haller,  who  had  really  some  gleams  of  poetry ; and 
Canitz,  Hagedorn,  Drollinger,  — writers  then  much  beloved, 
now  slumbering  upon  dusty  shelves,  unvisited,  except  by  an 
occasional  historian,  and  by  spiders  of  an  inquiring  mind. 

Not  only  did  he  tell  stories,  he  wrote  them  also,  as  we 
gather  from  a touching  little  anecdote  preserved  by  Bettina. 
The  small-pox  had  carried  off  his  little  brother  Jacob.  To 
the  surprise  of  his  mother,  Wolfgang  shed  no  tears,  believing 
Jacob  to  be  with  God  in  heaven.  “Did  you  not  love  your 
little  brother,  then,”  asked  his  mother,  “ that  you  do  not 
grieve  for  his  loss  ? ” He  ran  to  his  room,  and  from  under 
the  bed  drew  a quantity  of  papers  on  which  he  had  written 
stories  and  lessons.  “ All  these  I had  written  that  I might 
teach  them  to  him,”  said  the  child.  He  was  then  nine  years 
old. 

Shortly  before  the  death  of  his  brother  he  was  startled  by 
the  sound  of  the  warder’s  trumpet  from  the  chief  tower, 
announcing  the  approach  of  troops.  This  was  in  January, 
1 75 9.  On  came  the  troops  in  continuous  masses,  and  the 
rolling  tumult  of  their  drums  called  all  the  women  to  the 
windows,  and  all  the  boys  in  admiring  crowds  into  the 
streets.  The  troops  were  French.  They  seized  the  guard- 
house, and  in  a little  while  the  city  was  a camp.  To  make 
matters  worse,  these  troops  were  at  war  with  Frederick, 
whom  Wolfgang  and  his  father  worshipped.  They  were  soon 
billeted  through  the  town,  and  things  relapsed  into  their 
usual  routine,  varied  by  a military  occupation.  In  the 


32 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  i. 


Goethe-house  an  important  person  was  quartered,  — Count  de 
Thorane,  the  king’s  lieutenant,  a man  of  taste  and  munifi- 
cence, who  assembled  round  him  artists  and  celebrities,  and 
won  the  affectionate  admiration  of  Wolfgang,  though  he 
failed  to  overcome  the  hatred  of  the  old  councillor. 

This  occupation  of  Frankfurt  brought  with  it  many  advan- 
tages to  Goethe.  It  relaxed  the  severity  of  paternal  book  ed- 
ucation, and  began  another  kind  of  tuition,  — that  of  life  and 
manners.  The  perpetual  marching  through  the  streets,  the 
brilliant  parades,  the  music,  the  “ pomp,  pride,  and  circum- 
stance,” were  not  without  their  influence.  Moreover,  he 
now  gained  conversational  familiarity  with  French,*  and 
acquaintance  with  the  theatre.  The  French  nation  always 
carries  its  “civilization”  with  it, — namely,  a cafe  and  a 
theatre.  In  Frankfurt  both  were  immediately  opened,  and 
Goethe  was  presented  with  a “ free  admission  ” to  the  theatre, 
a privilege  he  used  daily,  not  always  understanding,  but 
always  enjoying  what  he  saw.  In  tragedy  the  measured 
rhythm,  slow  utterance,  and  abstract  language  enabled  him 
to  understand  the  scenes  better  than  he  understood  comedy, 
wherein  the  language,  besides  moving  amid  the  details  of 
private  life,  was  also  more  rapidly  spoken.  But,  at  the  thea- 
tre, boys  are  not  critical,  and  do  not  need  to  understand  a 
play  in  order  to  enjoy  it.  A Racine , found  upon  his  father’s 
shelves,  was  eagerly  studied,  and  the  speeches  were  declaimed 
with  more  or  less  appreciation  of  their  meaning. 

The  theatre,  and  acquaintance  with  a chattering  little  brag- 
gart, named  Derones,  gave  him  such  familiarity  with  the  lan- 
guage, that  in  a month  he  surprised  his  parents  with  his 
facility.  This  Derones  was  acquainted  with  the  actors,  and 
introduced  him  “behind  the  scenes.”  At  ten  years  of  age  to 

* He  says  that  he  had  never  learned  French  before  ; but  this  is  errone- 
ous, as  his  exercises  prove. 


1759] 


THE  PRECOCIOUS  CHILD . 


33 


go  “ behind  the  scenes  ” means  a great  deal.  We  shall  see 
hereafter  how  early  he  was  introduced  behind  the  scenes  of 
life.  For  the  present  let  it  be  noted  that  he  was  a frequenter 
of  the  green-room,  and  admitted  into  the  dressing-room, 
where  the  actors  and  actresses  dressed  and  undressed  with 
philosophic  disregard  to  appearances ; and  this,  from  repeated 
visits,  he  also  learned  to  regard  as  quite  natural. 

A grotesque  scene  took  place  between  these  two  boys. 
Derones  excelled,  as  he  affirmed,  in  “ affairs  of  honor.”  He 
had  been  engaged  in  several,  and  had  always  managed  to 
disarm  his  antagonist,  and  then  nobly  forgive  him.  One  day 
he  pretended  that  Wolfgang  had  insulted  him  : satisfaction 
was  peremptorily  demanded,  and  a duel  was  the  result. 
Imagine  Wolfgang,  aged  twelve,  arrayed  in  shoes  and  silver 
buckles,  fine  woollen  stockings,  dark  serge  breeches,  green 
coat  with  gold  facings,  a waistcoat  of  gold  cloth,  cut  out  of 
his  father’s  wedding  waistcoat,  his  hair  curled  and  powdered, 
his  hat  under  his  arm,  and  little  sword,  with  silk  sword-knot. 
This  little  manikin  stands  opposite  his  antagonist  with  the- 
atrical formality ; swords  clash,  thrusts  come  quick  upon  each 
other,  the  combat  grows  hot,  when  the  point  of  Derones’ 
rapier  lodges  in  the  bow  of  Wolfgang’s  sword-knot ; here- 
upon the  French  boy,  with  great  magnanimity,  declares  that 
he  is  satisfied  ! The  two  embrace,  and  retire  to  a cafe  to  re- 
fresh themselves  with  a glass  of  almond  milk.* 

Theatrical  ambition,  which  stirs  us  all,  soon  prompted 
Wolfgang.  As  a child  he  had  imitated  Terence ; he  was  now 
to  make  a more  elaborate  effort  in  the  style  of  Piron.  When 
the  play  was  completed  he  submitted  it  to  Derones,  who, 
pointing  out  several  grammatical  blunders,  promised  to  ex- 
amine it  more  critically,  and  talked  of  giving  it  his  support 

* To  remove  incredulity,  it  may  be  well  to  remind  the  reader  that  to 
this  day  German  youths  fight  out  their  quarrels  with  swords,  — not  fists. 

2 * C 


34 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  i. 


with  the  manager.  Wolfgang  saw,  in  his  mind’s  eye,  the  name 
of  his  play  already  placarded  at  the  corners  of  the  street ! 
Unhappily,  Derones  in  his  critical  capacity  was  merciless. 
He  picked  the  play  to  pieces,  and  stunned  the  poor  author 
with  the  critical  jargon  of  that  day;  proclaimed  the  absolute 
integrity  of  the  Three  Unities,  abused  the  English,  laughed  at 
the  Germans,  and  maintained  the  sovereignty  of  French  taste 
in  so  confident  a style,  that  his  listener  was  without  a reply. 
If  silenced,  however,  he  was  not  convinced.  It  set  him  to 
thinking  on  those  critical  canons.  He  studied  the  treatise  on 
the  Unities  by  Corneille,  and  the  prefaces  of  Racine.  The  re- 
sult of  these  studies  was  profound  contempt  for  that  system ; 
and  it  is,  perhaps,  to  Derones  that  we  owe  something  of  the 
daring  defiance  of  all  “ rule,”  which  startled  Germany  in  Gotz 
von  Berlichingen. 


CHAPTER  III. 

VARIOUS  STUDIES. 

At  length,  June,  1761,  the  French  quitted  Frankfurt ; and 
studies  were  seriously  resumed.  Mathematics,  music,  and 
drawing  were  commenced  under  paternal  superintendence. 
For  mathematics  Wolfgang  had  no  aptitude  ; for  music,  little  ; 
he  learned  to  play  on  the  harpsichord,  and  subsequently  on 
the  violoncello,  but  he  never  attained  any  proficiency.  Draw- 
ing continued  through  life  a pleasant  exercise. 

Left  now  to  the  calm  of  uninterrupted  studies,  he  made 
gigantic  strides.  Even  the  hours  of  recreation  were  filled 
with  some  useful  occupation.  He  added  English  to  his  poly- 
glot store ; and  to  keep  up  his  several  languages,  he  invented 
a Romance,  wherein  six  or  seven  brothers  and  sisters  scat- 


I76i.] 


VARIOUS  STUDIES. 


35 


tered  over  the  world  corresponded  with  each  other.  The 
eldest  describes  in  good  German  all  the  incidents  of  his 
travels ; his  sister  answers  in  womanly  style  with  short,  sharp 
sentences,  and  nothing  but  full  stops,  much  as  Siegwart  was 
afterwards  written.  Another  brother  studies  theology,  and 
therefore  writes  in  Latin,  with  postscripts  in  Greek.  A third 
and  a fourth,  clerks  at  Hamburg  and  Marseilles,  take  English 
and  French  ; Italian  is  given  to  a musician  ; while  the  young- 
est, who  remains  at  home,  writes  in  Jew-German.  This  ro- 
mance led  him  to  a more  accurate  study  of  geography. 
Having  placed  his  characters  in  various  parts  of  the  globe,  he 
was  not  satisfied  till  he  had  a distinct  idea  of  these  localities, 
so  that  the  objects  and  events  should  be  consonant  with 
probability.  While  trying  to  master  the  strange  dialect, — 
Jew-German,  — he  was  led  to  the  study  of  Hebrew.  As  the 
original  language  of  the  Old  Testament,  this  seemed  to  him 
an  indispensable  acquisition.  His  father  consented  to  give 
him  a Hebrew  master ; and  although  he  attained  no  scholar- 
ship in  that  difficult  language,  yet  the  reading,  translating, 
and  committing  to  memory  of  various  parts  of  the  Bible 
brought  out  the  meaning  more  vividly  before  him  ; as  every 
one  will  understand  who  compares  the  lasting  effect  produced 
by  the  laborious  school-reading  of  Sallust  and  Livy  with  the 
facile  reading  of  Robertson  and  Hume.  The  Bible  made  a 
profound  impression  upon  him.  To  a boy  of  his  constitutional 
reflectiveness,  the  severe  study  of  this  book  could  not  fail  to 
exercise  a deep  and  permeating  influence ; nor,  at  the  same 
time,  in  one  so  accustomed  to  think  for  himself,  could  it  fail  to 
awaken  certain  doubts.  “The  contradiction,”  he  says,  “be- 
tween the  actual  or  possible,  and  tradition,  forcibly  arrested  me. 
I often  posed  my  tutors  with  the  sun*  standing  still  on  Gibeon, 
and  the  moon  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon ; not  to  mention  other 
incongruities  and  impossibilities.  All  my  doubts  were  now 


36 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  i. 


awakened,  as  in  order  to  master  the  Hebrew  I studied  the 
literal  version  by  Schmidt,  printed  under  the  text.” 

One  result  of  these  Hebrew  studies  was  a biblical  poem  on 
Joseph  and  his  Brethren ; which  he  dictated  to  a poor  half- 
idiot who  lived  in  his  father’s  house,  and  who  had  a mania 
for  copying  or  writing  under  dictation.  Goethe  soon  found 
the  process  of  dictation  of  great  service ; and  through  life  it 
continued  to  be  his  favorite  mode  of  composition.  All  his 
best  thoughts  and  expressions,  he  says,  came  to  him  while 
walking;  he  could  do  nothing  seated. 

To  these  multifarious  studies  in  Literature  must  be  added 
multifarious  studies  of  Life.  The  old  Frankfurt  city,  with  its 
busy  crowds,  its  fairs,  its  mixed  population,  and  its  many 
sources  of  excitement,  offered  great  temptations,  and  great 
pasture  to  so  desultory  a genius.  This  is  perhaps  a case  where- 
in Circumstance  may  be  seen  influencing  the  direction  of 
Character.  A boy  of  less  impressionable  nature,  of  less  many- 
sided  curiosity,  would  have  lived  in  such  a city  undisturbed ; 
some  eyes  would  see  little  of  the  variety,  some  minds  would 
be  unsolicited  by  the  exciting  objects.  But  Goethe’s  desultory, 
because  impulsive,  nature  found  continual  excitement  in  fresh 
objects ; and  he  was  thus  led  to  study  many  things,  to  grasp 
at  many  forms  of  life,  instead  of  concentrating  himself  upon  a 
few.  A large  continuity  of  thought  and  effort  was  perhaps 
radically  uncongenial  to  such  a temperament ; yet  one  can- 
not help  speculating  whether  under  other  circumstances  he 
might  not  have  achieved  it.  Had  he  been  reared  in  a quiet 
little  old  German  town,  where  he  would  have  daily  seen  the 
same  faces  in  the  silent  streets,  and  come  in  contact  with  the 
same  characters,  his  culture  might  have  been  less  various,  but 
it  might  perhaps  have  been  deeper.  Had  he  been  reared  in 
the  country,  with  only  the  changing  seasons  and  the  sweet 
serenities  of  Nature  to  occupy  his  attention  when  released 


1762.] 


VARIOUS  STUDIES. 


3 7 


from  study,  he  would  certainly  have  been  a different  poet. 
The  long  summer  afternoons  spent  in  lonely  rambles,  the 
deepening  twilights  filled  with  shadowy  visions,  the  slow  uni- 
formity of  his  external  life  necessarily  throwing  him  more  and 
more  upon  the  more  subtile  diversities  of  inward  experience, 
would  inevitably  have  influenced  his  genius  in  quite  different 
directions,  would  have  animated  his  works  with  a very  differ- 
ent spirit.  Yet  who  shall  say  that  to  him  this  would  have 
been  all  gain  ? Who  shall  say  that  it  would  not  have  been  a 
loss?  For  such  an  organization  as  his  the  life  he  led  was 
perhaps  the  very  best.  He  was  desultory,  and  the  varieties 
of  objects  which  solicited  his  attention,  while  they  helped  to 
encourage  that  tendency,  also  helped  to  nourish  his  mind 
with  images  and  experience,  such  as  afterwards  became  the 
richest  material  for  his  art. 

The  boy  saw  much  of  life,  in  both  the  lower  and  the 
upper  classes.  He  passed  from  the  society  of  the  Count  de 
Thorane,  and  of  the  artists  whom  the  Count  assembled  round 
him  (from  whom  the  boy  learned  something  of  the  technical 
details  of  painting),  to  the  society  of  the  Jews  in  the  strange, 
old,  filthy,  but  deeply  interesting  Judengasse ; or  to  that  of 
various  artisans,  in  whose  shops  his  curiosity  found  perpetual 
food.  The  Jews  were  doubly  interesting  to  him  : as  social 
pariahs,  over  whom  there  hovered  a mingled  mystery  of  'ter- 
ror and  contempt ; and  as  descendants  of  the  Chosen  People, 
who  preserved  the  language,  the  opinions,  and  many  of  the 
customs  of  the  old  Biblical  race.  He  was  impressed  by  their 
adherence  to  old  customs ; by  their  steadfastness  and  coura- 
geous activity  ; by  their  strange  features  and  accents  ; by 
their  bright  cleverness  and  good-nature.  The  pretty  Jewish 
maidens  also  smiled  agreeably  upon  him.  He  began  to 
mingle  with  them,  managed  to  get  permission  to  be  present 
at  some  of  their  ceremonies,  and  attended  their  schools. 


38 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  i. 


As  to  artisans,  he  was  all  l)is  life  curious  about  their  handh 
crafts,  and  fond  of  being  admitted  into  their  family  circles. 
Scott  himself  was  not  fonder  of  talking  to  them ; nor  did 
Scott  make  better  use  of  his  manifold  experience.  Fred- 
erika’s  sister  told  her  visitor  that  Goethe  knew  several  handi- 
crafts, and  had  even  learned  basket-making  from  a lame  man 
in  Sesenheim.  Here  in  Frankfurt  the  boy  was  welcome  in 
many  a shop.  The  jeweller,  Lautensack,  gladly  admitted 
him  to  witness  the  mysteries  of  his  art,  while  he  made  the 
bouquet  of  jewels  for  the  Kaiser,  or  a diamond  snuff-box 
which  Rath  Goethe  had  ordered  as  a present  for  his  wife ; 
the  boy  asking  eager  questions  respecting  precious  stones, 
and  the  engravings  which  the  jeweller  possessed.  Nothnagel, 
the  painter,  had  established  an  oil-cloth  manufactory ; and 
Goethe  not  only  learned  all  the  processes,  but  lent  a helping 
hand. 

^ Besides  these  forms  of  life,  there  were  others  whose  influ- 
ence must  not  be  overlooked  ; one  of  these  brings  before  us 
the  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg,  of  whom  we  first  get  a glimpse 
in  connection  with  his  Confirmation,  which  took  place  at  this 
period,  1763.  The  readers  of  Wilhelm  Meister  are  familiar 
with  this  gentle  and  exquisite  character,  where  she  is  repre- 
sented in  the  “ Confessions  of  a Beautiful  Soul.”*  In  the 
“ Confessions  ” we  see  that  the  “ piety  ” and  retirement  are 
represented  less  as  the  consequences  of  evangelical  illumina- 
tion, than  of  moral  serenity  and  purity  shrinking  from  con- 
tact with  a world  of  which  it  has  been  her  fate  to  see  the 
•coarsest  features.  The  real  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  it  is 
perhaps  now  impossible  to  separate  from  the  ideal  so  beauti- 

* Or  as  we  in  England,  following  Carlyle,  have  been  misled  into  call- 
ing it,  the  “Confessions  of  a Fair  Saint.”  The  schone  Seele  — une  belle 
time , was  one  of  the  favorite  epithets  of  the  last  century.  Goethe  applies 
it  to  Klopstock,  who  was  neither  “saint  nor  fair.” 


176 3-] 


VARIOUS  STUDIES. 


39 


fully  painted  by  Goethe.  On  him  her  influence  was  avowedly 
very  great,  both  at  this  period  and  subsequently.  It  was  not 
so  much  the  effect  of  religious  discussion  as  the  experience 
it  gave  him  of  a deeply  religious  nature.  She  was  neither 
bigot  nor  prude.  Her  faith  was  an  inner  light  which  shed 
mild  radiance  around  her.*  Moved  by  her  influence,  he 
wrote  a series  of  Religious  Odes , after  the  fashion  of  that  day, 
and  greatly  pleased  his  father  by  presenting  them  copied 
neatly  in  a quarto  volume.  His  father  begged  that  every 
year  he  would  present  him  with  such  a volume. 

A very  different  sort  of  female  influence  has  now  to  be 
touched  on.  His  heart  began  to  flutter  with  the  emotions 
of  love.  He  was  not  quite  fifteen,  when  Gretchen,  the  sister 
of  one  of  his  companions,  first  set  his  youthful  pulses  throb- 
bing to  the  movements  of  the  divine  passion.  The  story  is 
told  in  a rambling  way  in  the  Autobiography , and  may  here 
be  very  briefly  dismissed.  He  had  often  turned  his  poetical 
talents  to  practical  purposes,  namely,  writing  wedding  and 
funeral  verses,  the  produce  of  which  went  in  joyous  feast- 
ings.  In  these  he  was  almost  daily  thrown  with  Gretchen  ; 
but  she,  though  kind,  treated  him  as  a child,  and  never  per- 
mitted the  slightest  familiarity.  A merry  life  they  led  in 
picnics  and  pleasure  bouts  ; and  the  coronation  of  the  Kaiser 
Joseph  II.  was  the  occasion  of  increased  festivity.  One 
night,  after  the  fatigues  of  a sight-seeing  day,  the  hours 
rolled  unheeded  over  these  thoughtless,  merry  heads,  and  the 
stroke  of  midnight  startled  them.  To  his  dismay,  Wolfgang 
found  he  had  forgotten  the  door-key  with  which  hitherto  he 
had  been  able  to  evade  paternal  knowledge  of  his  late  hours. 
Gretchen  proposed  that  they  should  all  remain  together,  and 

* In  Varnhagen  VON  Ense’s  Vermischte  Schriften  (Vol.  III.  p.  33)  the 
reader  will  find  a few  significant  details  respecting  this  remarkable  per- 
son, and  some  of  her  poems. 


40 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  i. 


pass  the  night  in  conversation.  This  was  agreed  on.  But, 
as  in  all  such  cases,  the  effort  was  vain.  Fatigue  weighed 
down  their  eyelids  ; conversation  became  feebler  and  feebler; 
two  strangers  already  slumbered  in  corners  of  the  room  ; 
one  friend  sat  in  a corner  with  his  betrothed,  her  head  re- 
posing on  his  shoulder ; another  crossing  his  arms  upon  the 
table,  rested  his  head  upon  them,  and  snored.  The  noisy 
room  had  become  silent.  Gretchen  and  her  lover  sat  by  the 
window  talking  in  undertones.  Fatigue  at  length  conquered 
her  also,  and  drooping  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  she  too 
slept.  With  tender  pride  he  supported  that  delicious  burden, 
till  like  the  rest  he  gave  way,  and  slept. 

It  was  broad  day  when  he  awoke.  Gretchen  was  standing 
before  a mirror,  arranging  her  cap.  She  smiled  on  him  more 
amiably  than  ever  she  had  smiled  before  ; and  pressed  his 
hand  tenderly  as  he  departed.  But  now,  while  he  seemed 
drawing  nearer  to  her,  the  denouement  was  at  hand.  Some 
of  the  joyous  companions  had  been  guilty  of  nefarious 
practices,  such  as  forgeries  of  documents.  His  friend  and 
Gretchen  ere  involved  in  the  accusation,  though  falsely. 
Wolfgang  had  to  undergo  a severe  investigation,  which,  as  he 
was  perfectly  innocent,  did  not  much  afflict  him  ; but  an 
affliction  came  out  of  the  investigation,  for  Gretchen,  in  her 
deposition  concerning  him,  said,  “ I will  not  deny  that  I have 
often  seen  him,  and  seen  him  with  pleasure,  but  I treated  him 
as  a child,  and  my  affection  for  him  was  merely  that  of  a 
sister.”  His  exasperation  may  be  imagined. 

But  pride  came  to  his  aid ; pride  and  that  volatility  of 
youth,  which  compensates  for  extra  sensitiveness  by  extra 
facility  in  forgetting.  He  threw  himself  into  study,  especially 
of  philosophy,  under  guidance  of  a tutor,  a sort  of  Wagner 
to  the  young  Faust.  This  tutor,  who  preferred  dusty  quartos 
to  all  the  landscapes  in  the  world,  used  to  banter  him  upon 


1764.1 


VARIOUS  STUDIES. 


41 


being  a true  German,  such  as  Tacitus  describes,  avid  of  the 
emotions  excited  by  solitude  and  scenery.  The  banter  was 
powerless.  He  was  enjoying  his  first  sorrow : the  luxury  of 
melancholy,  the  romance  of  a forlorn  existence,  drove  him 
into  solitude.  Like  Bellerophon  he  fed  upon  his  own  heart 
away  from  the  haunts  of  men.  He  made  frequent  walking 
excursions.  Those  mountains,  which  from  earliest  childhood 
had  haunted  him  like  a passion,  were  now  his  favorite  resorts. 
He  visited  Homburg,  Kronburg,  Konigstein,  Wiesbaden, 
Schwalbach,  Biberich,  and  there  filled  his  mind  with  lovely 
images. 

Severer  studies  were  not  neglected.  To  please  his  father 
he  was  diligent  in  application  to  jurisprudence ; to  please 
himself  he  was  still  more  diligent  in  literature;  Morhof’s 
Poly  his  tor,  Gessner’s  Isagoge,  and  Bayle’s  Dictionary  filled 
him  with  the  ambition  to  become  an  University  Professor. 
Herein,  as,  indeed,  throughout  his  career,  we  see  the  strange 
impressibility  of  his  nature,  which,  like  the  fabled  chameleon, 
takes  its  color  from  every  tree  it  lies  under. 

The  melancholy  fit  did  not  last  long.  A circle  of  lively 
friends,  among  them  Horn,  of  whom  we  shall  hear  more 
anon,  drew  him  into  gayety  again.  Their  opinion  of  his 
talents  appears  to  have  been  enormous ; their  love  for  him, 
and  interest  in  all  he  did,  was  of  a kind  which  followed  him 
through  life.  No  matter  what  his  mood,  — in  the  wildest 
student-period,  in  the  startling  genius-period,  and  in  the  di- 
plomatic period,  — whatever  offence  his  manner  created  was 
soon  forgotten  in  the  irresistible  fascination  of  his  nature. 
The  secret  of  that  fascination  was  his  own  overflowing  loving- 
ness, and  his  genuine  interest  in  every  individuality,  however 
opposite  to  his  own. 


42 


[BOOK  I. 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE. 

^ 1 

CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CHILD  IS  FATHER  TO  THE  MAN. 

As  in  the  soft  round  lineaments  of  childhood  we  trace  the 
features  which  after  years  will  develop  into  more  decided 
forms,  so  in  the  moral  lineaments  of  the  Child  may  be  traced 
the  characteristics  of  the  Man.  But  an  apparent  solution  of 
continuity  takes  place  in  the  transition  period ; so  that  the 
Youth  is  in  many  respects  unlike  what  he  has  been  in  child- 
hood, and  what  he  will  be  in  maturity.  In  youth,  when  the 
passions  begin  to  stir,  the  character  is  made  to  swerve  from 
the  orbit  previously  traced.  Passion,  more  than  Character, 
rules  the  hour.  Thus  we  often  see  the  prudent  child  turn 
out  an  extravagant  youth ; but  he  crystallizes  once  more  into 
prudence,  as  he  hardens  with  age. 

This  was  certainly  the  case  with  Goethe,  who,  if  he  had 
died  young,  like  Shelley  or  Keats,  would  have  left  a name 
among  the  most  genial , not  to  say  extravagant,  of  poets  ; but 
who,  living  to  the  age  of  eighty-two,  had  fifty  years  of  crys- 
tallization to  acquire  a definite  figure  which  perplexes  critics. 
In  his  childhood,  scanty  as  the  datails  are  which  enable  us 
to  reconstruct  it,  we  see  the  main  features  of  the  man.  Let 
us  glance  rapidly  at  them. 

And  first,  of  his  many  sidedness.  Seldom  has  a boy  exhib- 
ited such  variety  of  faculty.  The  multiplied  activity  of  his 
life  is  prefigured  in  the  varied  tendencies  of  his  childhood. 
We  see  him  as  an  orderly,  somewhat  formal,  inquisitive,  rea- 
soning, deliberative  child,  a precocious  learner,  an  omnivorous 
reader,  and  one  who  thinks  for  himself,  — so  independent,  that 
at  six  years  of  age  he  doubts  the  beneficence  of  the  Creator ; 
at  seven,  doubts  the  competence  and  justice  of  the  world’s 


1764  ] THE  CHILD  IS  FATHER  TO  THE  MAN. 


43 


judgment.  He  is  inventive,  poetical,  proud,  loving,  volatile, 
with  a mind  open  to  all  influences,  swayed  by  every  gust,  and 
yet,  while  thus  swayed  as  to  the  direction  of  his  activity,  he 
is  master  over  that  activity.  The  most  diverse  characters, 
the  most  antagonistic  opinions,  interest  him.  He  is  very 
studious,  no  bookworm  more  so ; alternately  busy  with  lan- 
guages, mythology,  antiquities,  law,  philosophy,  poetry,  and 
religion ; yet  he  joins  in  all  festive  scenes,  gets  familiar  with 
life  in  various  forms,  and  stays  out  late  o’  nights.  He  is  also 
troubled  by  melancholy,  dreamy  moods,  forcing  him  ever  and 
anon  into  solitude. 

Among  the  dominant  characteristics  are  seriousness,  for- 
mality, rationality.  He  is  by  no  means  a naughty  boy.  He 
gives  his  parents  no  tremulous  anxiety  as  to  what  will  become 
of  him.  He  seems  very  much  master  of  himself.  It  is  this 
which  in  later  years  perplexed  his  critics,  who  could  not  rec- 
oncile this  appearance  of  self-mastery,  this  seeming  absence 
of  enthusiasm,  with  their  conceptions  of  a poet.  Assuredly 
he  had  enthusiasm,  if  ever  man  had  it : at  least,  enthusiasm 
.(being  “full  of  the  God”)  means  being  filled  with  a divine 
idea,  and  by  its  light  working  steadily.  He  had  little  of  the 
other  kind  of  enthusiasm,  — that  insurrection  of  the  feelings 
carrying  away  upon  their  triumphant  shoulders  the  Reason 
which  has  no  longer  power  to  guide  them ; for  his  intellect 
did  not  derive  its  whole  momentum  from  his  feelings.  And 
hence  it  is  that  whereas  the  quality  which  first  strikes  us  in 
most  poets  is  sensibility , with  its  caprices,  infirmities,  and 
generous  errors,  the  first  quality  which  strikes  us  in  Goethe 
— the  Child  and  Man,  but  not  the  Youth  — is  intellect,  with 
its  clearness  and  calmness.  He  has  also  a provoking  degree 
of  immunity  from  error.  I say  provoking,  for  we  all  gladly 
overlook  the  errors  of  enthusiasm ; partly  because  these 
errors  appeal  to  our  compassion  ; and  partly  because  these 


44 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  i. 


errors  establish  a community  of  impulse  between  the  sinner 
and  ourselves,  forming,  as  it  were,  broken  edges  which  show 
us  where  to  look  for  support,  — scars  which  tell  of  wounds  we 
have  escaped.  Whereas,  we  are  pitiless  to  the  cold  prudence 
which  shames  our  weakness  and  asks  no  alms  from  our 
charity.  Why  do  we  all  preach  Prudence,  and  secretly  dis- 
like it  ? Perhaps,  because  we  dimly  feel  that  life  without  its 
generous  errors  might  want  its  lasting  enjoyments ; and  thus 
the  very  mistakes  which  arise  from  an  imprudent,  unreflecting 
career  are  absolved  by  that  instinct  which  suggests  other 
aims  for  existence  beyond  prudential  aims.  This  is  one  rea- 
son why  the  erring  lives  of  Genius  command  such  deathless 
sympathy. 

Having  indicated  so  much,  I may  now  ask  those  who  are 
distressed  by  the  calm,  self-sustaining  superiority  of  Goethe 
in  old  age,  whether,  on  deeper  reflection,  they  cannot  recon- 
cile it  with  their  conceptions  of  the  poet’s  nature  ? We  ad- 
mire Rationality,  but  we  sympathize  with  Sensibility.  Our 
dislike  of  the  one  arises  from  its  supposed  incompatibility 
with  the  other.  But  if  a man  unites  the  mastery  of  Will  and 
Intellect  to  the  profoundest  sensibility  of  Emotion,  shall  we 
not  say  of  him  that  he  has  in  living  synthesis  vindicated  both 
what  we  preach  and  what  we  love  ? That  Goethe  united 
these  will  be  abundantly  shown  in  this  Biography.  In  the 
chapters  about  to  follow  we  shall  see  him  wild,  restless, 
aimless,  erring,  and  extravagant  enough  to  satisfy  the  most 
ardent  admirer  of  the  vagabond  nature  of  genius  : the  Child 
and  the  Man  will  at  times  be  scarcely  traceable  in  the 
Youth. 

One  trait  must  not  be  passed  over,  namely,  his  impatient 
susceptibility , which,  while  it  prevented  his  ever  thoroughly 
mastering  the  technic  of  any  one  subject,  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  his  multiplied  activity  in  directions  so  opposed  to  each 


1764  ] THE  CHILD  IS  FA  THEE  TO  THE  MAN. 


45 


other.  He  was  excessively  impressible,  caught  the  impulse 
from  every  surrounding  influence,  and  was  thus  never  con- 
stant to  one  thing,  because  his  susceptibility  was  connected 
with  an  impatience  which  soon  made  him  weary.  There  are 
men  who  learn  many  languages,  and  never  thoroughly  master 
the  grammar  of  one.  Of  these  was  Goethe.  Easily  excited 
to  throw  his  energy  in  a new  direction,  he  had  not  the  pa- 
tience which  begins  at  the  beginning,  and  rises  gradually, 
slowly  into  assured  mastery.  Like  an  eagle  he  swooped  down 
upon  his  prey  ; he  could  not  watch  for  it  with  cat-like  patience. 
It  is  to  this  impatience  we  must  attribute  the  fact  of  so  many 
works  being  left  fragments,  so  many  composed  by  snatches 
during  long  intervals.  Prometheus , Mahomet , Die  Naturliche 
Tochter , Elpenor , Achilleis , JVausikaa,  remain  fragments.  Paust, 
Egmont , Tasso , Iphigenia , Meistery  were  many  years  in  hand. 
Whatever  could  be  done  in  a few  days  — while  the  impulse 
lasted  — was  done ; longer  works  were  spread  over  a series 
of  years. 


BOOK  THE  SECOND. 

1765  TO 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  LEIPSIC  STUDENT. 

In  the  month  of  October,  1765,  Goethe,  aged  sixteen, 
arrived  in  Leipsic,  to  commence  his  collegiate  life,  and  to  lay, 
as  he  hoped,  the  solid  foundation  of  a future  professorship. 
He  took  lodgings  in  the  Feuerkugel,  between  the  Old  and  New 
Markets,  and  was  by  the  rector  of  the  University  inscribed  on 
the  19th  as  student  “in  the  Bavarian  nation.”  At  that 
period,  and  until  quite  recently,  the  University  was  classed 
according  to  four  “ nations,”  namely,  the  Misnian , the  Saxon , 
the  Bavarivn , and  the  Polish.  When  the  inscription  was 
official,  the  “ nations  ” were  what  in  Oxford  and  Paris  are 
called  “ tongues  ” ; when  not  official,  they  were  students’ 
clubs,  such  as  they  exist  to  this  day.  Goethe,  as  a Frank- 
furter, was  placed  in  the  Bavarian.* 

He  first  presented  himself  to  Hofrath  Bohme,  a genuine 
professor,  shut  within  the  narrow  circle  of  his  speciality.  To 
him  Literature  and  the  Fine  Arts  were  trivialities  ; and  when 
the  confiding  youth  confessed  his  secret  ambition  of  studying 
belles  left res , in  lieu  of  the  jurisprudence  commanded  by  his 
father,  he  met  with  every  discouragement.  Yet  it  was  not 
difficult  to  persuade  this  impressible  student  that  to  rival 
Otto  and  Heineccius  was  the  true  ambition  of  a vigorous 


* Otto  Jahn,  in  the  Brief e an  Leipziger  Freundet  p 9. 


THE  LEIPSIC  STUDENT. 


4 7 


I76S-] 

mind.  He  set  to  work  in  earnest,  at  first,  as  students  usually 
do  on  arriving  at  seats  of  learning.  His  attendance  at  the 
lectures  on  philosophy,  history  of  law,  and  jurisprudence  was 
assiduous  enough  to  have  pleased  even  his  father.  But  this, 
flush  of  eagerness  quickly  subsided.  Logic  was  repugn 
nant  to  him.  He  hungered  for  realities,  and  could  not  be 
satisfied  with  definitions.  To  see  operations  of  his  mind, 
which,  from  childhood  upwards,  had  been  conducted  with 
perfect  ease  and  unconsciousness,  suddenly  pulled  to  pieces, 
in  order  that  he  might  gain  the  superfluous  knowledge 
of  what  they  were,  and  what  they  were  called,  was  to  him 
tiresome  and  frivolous.  “ I fancied  I knew  as  much  about 
God  and  the  world  as  the  professor  himself,  and  logic  seemed 
in  many  places  to  come  to  a dead  standstill.”  We  are  here  on 
t the  threshold  of  that  experience  which  has  been  immortalized 
in  the  scene  between  Mephistopheles  and  the  Student.  Juris- 
prudence soon  became  almost  equally  tiresome.  He  already 
knew  as  much  law  as  the  professor  thought  proper  to  com- 
municate ; and  what  with  the  tedium  of  the  lectures,  and  the 
counter-attraction  of  delicious  fritters,  which  used  to  come 
“ hot  from  the  pan  precisely  at  the  hour  of  lecture,”  no  wonder 
that  volatile  Sixteen  soon  abated  attendance. 

Volatile  he  was,  wild,  and  somewhat  rough,  both  in  appear- 
ance and  in  speech.  He  had  brought  with  him  a wild,  uneasy 
spirit  struggling  towards  the  light.  He  had  also  brought  with 
him  the  rough  manners  of  Frankfurt,  the  strong  Frankfurt 
dialect  and  colloquialisms,  rendered  still  more  unfit  for  the 
Leipsic  salon  by  a mixture  of  proverbs  and  Biblical  allu- 
sions. Nay,  even  his  costume  was  in  unpleasant  contrast 
with  that  of  the  society  in  which  he  moved.  He  had  an 
ample  wardrobe,  but  unhappily  it  was  doubly  out  of  fashion  : 
it  had  been  manufactured  at  home  by  one  of  his  father’s 
servants,  and  thus  was  not  only  in  the  Frankfurt  style,  but 


48  the  story  of  Goethe’S  life.  [book  h. 

grotesquely  made  in  that  style.  To  complete  his  discom- 
fiture, he  saw  a favorite  low  comedian  throw  an  audience 
into  fits  of  laughter  by  appearing  on  the  stage  dressed  pre- 
cisely in  that  costume,  which  he  had  hitherto  worn  as  the 
latest  novelty ! All  who  can  remember  the  early  humiliations 
of  being  far  behind  their  companions  in  matters  of  costume 
will  sympathize  with  this  youth. 

Dissatified  with  College,  he  sought  instruction  elsewhere. 
At  the  table  where  he  dined  daily,  kept  by  Hofrath  Ludwig, 
the  rector,  he  met  several  medical  students.  He  heard  little 
talked  of  but  medicine  and  botany,  and  the  names  of  Haller, 
Linnaeus,  and  Buffon  were  incessantly  cited  with  respect. 
His  ready  quickness  to  interest  himself  in  all  that  interested 
those  around  him  threw  him  at  once  into  these  studies,  which 
hereafter  he  was  to  pursue  with  passionate  ardor,  but  which 
at  present  he  only  lightly  touched.  Another  source  of  in- 
struction awaited  him,  one  which  through  life  he  ever  grate- 
fully acknowledged,  namely,  the  society  of  women. 

In  Leipsic,  he  was  glad  to  learn  from  Frau  Bohme  not  only 
some  of  the  requisites  for  society,  but  also  some  principles 
of  poetic  criticism.  This  delicate,  accomplished  woman' was 
able  to  draw  him  into  society,  to  teach  him  l’ombre  and 
picquet,  to  correct  some  of  his  awkwardnesses,  and  lastly  to 
make  him  own  that  the  poets  he  admired  were  a deplorable 
set,  and  that  his  own  imitations  of  them  deserved  no  better 
fate  than  the  flames.  He  had  got  rid  of  his  absurd  wardrobe 
at  one  fell  swoop,  without  a murmur  at  the  expense.  He' 
now  had  also  to  cast  away  the  poetic  wardrobe  brought 
from  home  with  so  much  pride.  He  saw  that  it  was 
poetic  frippery,  — saw  that  his  own  poems  were  lifeless ; 
accordingly,  a holocaust  was  made  of  all  his  writings,  prose 
and  verse,  and  the  kitchen  fire  wafted  them  into  space. 

Schlosser,  afterwards  his  brother-in-law,  came  to  Leipsic, 


THE  LEIPSIC  STUDENT. 


49 


I765  J 

and  by  bis  preaching  and  example  once  more  roused  the 
productive  activity  which  showed  itself  in  German,  French, 
English,  and  Italian  verses.  Schlosser,  who  was  ten  years  his 
senior,  not  only  awakened  emulation  by  his  own  superior 
knowledge  and  facility,  but  further  aided  him  by  introducmg 
him  to  a set  of  literary  friends  with  whom  poetic  discussions 
formed  the  staple  of  conversation.  This  circle  met  at  the 
house  of  one  Schonkopf,  a Weinhdndler  and  Hauswirth> 
living  in  the  Briihl,  No.  79.*  To  translate  these  words  into 
English  equivalents  would  only  mislead  the  reader.  Schon- 
kopf  kept  neither  a hotel,  nor  a public  house,  but  what  in 
Germany  is  a substitute  for  both.  He  sold  wine,  and  kept  a 
table- d'hote ; occasionally  also  let  bedrooms  to  travellers. 
His  wife,  a lively,  cultivated  woman,  belonging  to  a good 
family  in  Frankfurt,  drew  Frankfurt  visitors  to  the  house ; 
and  with  her  Goethe  soon  became  on  terms  of  intimacy 
which  would  seem  surprising  to  the  English  reader  who  only 
heard  of  her  as  an  innkeeper’s  wife.  He  became  one  of  the 
family,  and  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter.  I must  further 
beg  the  reader  to  understand  that  in  Germany,  to  this  day, 
there  is  a wide  difference  between  the  dining  customs  and 
our  own.  The  English  student,  clerk,  or  bachelor,  who  dines 
at  an  eating-house,  chop-house,  or  hotel,  goes  there  simply  to 
get  his  dinner,  and  perhaps  look  at  The  Times.  Of  the  other 
dit>ers  he  know*  nothing,  cares  little.  It  is  rare  that  a word 
is  interchanged  between  him  and  his  neighbor.  Quite  other- 
wise in  Germany.  There  the  same  society  is  generally  to  be 
found  at  the  same  table.  The  table-d' hote  is  composed  of  a 
circle  of  habitubs , varied  by  occasional  visitors,  who  in  time 
become,  perhaps,  members  of  the  circle.  Even  with  strangers 
conversation  is  freely  interchanged ; and  in  a little  while 

* The  hoqse  still  stands  there,  but  has  been  almost  entirely  re- 
modelled. 


3 


D 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  ir. 


50 

friendships  are  formed  over  these  dinner-tables,  according  as 
natural  tastes  and  likings  assimilate,  which,  extending  be- 
yond the  mere  hour  of  dinner,  are  carried  into  the  current  of 
life.  Germans  do  not  rise  so  hastily  from  the  table  as  we ; 
for  time  with  them  is  not  so  precious ; life  is  not  so  crowded  ; 
time  can  be  found  for  quiet  after-dinner  talk.  The  cigars  and 
coffee,  which  appear  before  the  cloth  is  removed,  keep  the 
company  together;  and  in  that  state  of  suffused  comfort 
which  quiet  digestion  creates,  they  hear  without  anger  the 
opinions  of  antagonists.  In  such  a society  must  we  imagine 
Goethe  in  the  Schonkopf  establishment,  among  students  and 
men  of  letters,  all  eager  in  advancing  their  own  opinions,  and 
combating  the  false  taste  which  was  not  their  own. 

To  complete  this  picture,  and  to  separate  it  still  more  from 
our  English  customs,  you  must  imagine  host  and  hostess 
dining  at  the  table,  while  their  charming  daughter,  who  had 
cooked  or  helped  to  cook  the  dinner,  brought  them  the 
wine.  This  daughter  was  the  Anna  Katharina,  by  intimates 
called  Kathchen,  and  by  Goethe,  in  the  Autobiography , desig- 
nated as  Annchen  and  Annette.  Her  portrait,  still  extant,  is 
very  pleasing.  She  was  then  nineteen,  lively  and  loving ; 
how  could  she  be  insensible  to  the  love  of  this  glorious  youth, 
in  all  the  fervor  of  genius,  and  with  all  the  attractions  of 
beauty  ? They  saw  each  other  daily,  not  only  at  dinner  but 
in  the  evenings,  when  he  accompanied  -the  piano* of  her 
brother  by  a feeble  performance  on  the  flute.  They  also  got 
up  private  theatricals,  in  which  Goethe  and  Kathchen  played 
the  lovers.  Minna  von  Barnhelm , then  a novelty,  was  among 
the  pieces  performed.  That  these  performances  were  of  a 
strictly  amateur  order  may  be  gathered  from  the  fact  that  in 
one  of  them  the  part  of  a nightingale,  which  is  important,  was 
represented  by  a handkerchief,  rolled  up  into  such  ornitho- 
logical resemblance  as  art  could  reach. 


1766.] 


THE  LEIPSIC  STUDENT. 


51 


Imagine  this  somewhat  fantastic  youth  assured  that  his 
passion  is  returned,  and  then  imagine  him  indulging  in  the 
boyish  caprice  of  tormenting  his  beloved.  There  is  nothing 
more  cruel  than  youth ; and  youthful  lovers,  once  assured  of 
victory,  are  singularly  prone  to  indulge  in  the  most  frivolous 
pretexts  for  ingeniously  tormenting.  “ Man  loves  to  conquer, 
likes  not  to  feel  secure,”  Goethe  says,  in  the  piece  wherein 
he  dramatized  this  early  experience  : — 

“ Erringen  will  der  Mensch ; er  will  nicht  sicher  seyn.” 

Had  Kathchen  coquetted  with  him,  keeping  him  in  the  ex- 
quisite pain  of  suspense,  she  would  have  been  happier ; but 
as  he  said  in  his  little  poem,  Der  Wahre  Genuss , “ she  is  per- 
fect, and  her  only  fault  is  — that  she  loves  me”:  — 

“ Sie  ist  vollkommen,  und  sie  fehlet 
Darin  allein  dass  sie  mich  liebt.” 

He  teased  her  with  trifles  and  idle  suspicions ; was  jealous 
without  cause,  convinced  without  reason  ; plagued  her  with 
fantastic  quarrels,  till  at  last  her  endurance  was  exhausted, 
and  her  love  was  washed  away  in  tears.  No  sooner  was  he 
aware  of  this  than  he  repented,  and  tried  to  recover  the  jewel 
which  like  a prodigal  he  had  cast  away.  In  vain.  He  was 
in  despair,  and  tried  in  dissipation  to  forget  his  grief.  A 
better  issue  was  poetry.  Several  of  his  lyrics  bore  the  bur- 
den of  this  experience ; and  one  entire  play,  or  pastoral,  is 
devoted  to  a poetical  representation  of  these  lovers’  quarrels  : 
this  is  Die  Laune  des  Verliebten , which  is  very  curious  as  the 
earliest  extant  work  of  the  great  poet,  and  as  the  earliest 
specimen  of  his  tendency  to  turn  experience  into  song.  In 
the  opera  of  Erwin  und  Elmire  he  subsequently  treated  a 
similar  subject  in  a very  different  manner.  The  first  effort  is 
the  more  curious  of  the  two.  The  style  of  composition  is  an 
imitation  of  those  pastoral  dramas  which,  originated  by 


52 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


Tasso  and  Guarini  in  the  soft  and  almost  luscious  Aminta 
and  Pastor  Fido , had  by  the  French  been  made  popular  all 
over  Europe. 

Young,  curious,  and  excitable  as  he  was,  nothing  is  more 
natural  than  that  he  should  somewhat  shock  the  respecta- 
bilities by  his  pranks  and  extravagances.  The  friends  were 
displeased  to  see  young  Goethe  falling  thus  away  from  good 
society  into  such  a disreputable  course ; but  just  as  Lessing 
before  him  had  neglected  the  elegant  Leipsic  world  for 
actors  and  authors  of  more  wit  than  money,  and  preferred 
Mylius,  with  his  shoes  down  at  heel,  to  all  that  the  best  drest 
society  could  offer  ; so  did  young  Goethe  neglect  salon  and 
lecture-hall  for  the  many-colored  scene  of  life  in  less  elegant 
circles.  Enlightened  by  the  result,  we  foresee  that  the  poet 
will  receive  little  injury  from  these  sources  ; he  is  gaining 
experience,  and  experience  even  of  the  worst  sides  of  human 
nature  will  be  sublimated  into  noble  uses,  as  carrion  by  the 
wise  farmer  is  turned  into  excellent  manure.  In  this  great 
drama  of  life  every  Theatre  has  its  Green-room  ; and  unless 
the  poet  knows  how  it  is  behind  the  scenes,  he  will  never 
understand  how  actors  speak  and  move. 

Goethe  had  often  been  “ behind  the  scenes,”  looking  at 
the  skeleton  which  stands  in  almost  every  house.  His  ad- 
venture with  Gretchen,  and  its  consequences,  early  opened 
his  eyes  to  the  strange  gulfs  which  lie  under  the  crust  of 
society.  “ Religion,  morals,  law,  rank,  habits,”  he  says, 
“ rule  over  the  surface  of  social  life.  Streets  of  magnificent 
houses  are  kept  clean  ; every  one  outwardly  conducts  himself 
with  propriety ; but  the  disorder  within  is  often  only  the  more 
desolate ; and  a polished  exterior  covers  many  a wall  which 
totters,  and  falls  with  a crash  during  the  night,  all  the  more 
terrible  because  it  falls  during  a calm.  How  many  families 
had  I not  more  or  less  distinctly  known  in  which  bankruptcy, 


766.] 


ART  STUDIES. 


53 


divorce,  seduction,  murder,  and  robbery  had  wrought  destruc- 
tion ! Young  as  I was,  I had  often,  in  such  cases,  lent  my 
succor;  for  as  my  frankness  awakened  confidence,  and  my 
discretion  was  known,  and  as  my  activity  did  not  shurp<any 
sacrifice,  — indeed,  rather  preferred  the  most  perilous  occa- 
sions,— I had  frequently  to  mediate,  console,  and  try  to 
avert  the  storm  ; in  the  course  of  which  I could  not  help 
learning  ihaqy  sad  and  humiliating  facts.” 

It  wa^natural  that  such  sad  experience  should  at  first  lead 
him  to  view  the  whole  social  fabric  with  contempt.  To 
relieve  himself  he  — being  then  greatly  captivated  with 
Moliere’s  works  — sketched  the  plans  of  several  dramas,  but 
their  plots  were  so  uniformly  unpleasant,  and  the  catastrophes 
so  tragic,  that  he  did  not  work  out  these  plans.  The  Fellow- 
Sinners  {Die  Mitschuldigefi)  is  the  sole  piece  which  was  com- 
pleted, and  it  now  occupies  a place  among  his  writings.  Few, 
in  England  at  least,  ever  read  it ; yet  it  is  worth  a rapid 
glance,  and  is  especially  remarkable  as  the  work  of  a youth 
not  yet  eighteen. 


CHAPTER  II. 

ART  STUDIES. 

Frau  Bohme  died.  In  her  he  lost  a monitress  and  friend, 
who  had  kept  some  check  on  his  waywardness,  and  drawn 
him  into  society.  The  Professor  had  long  since  cooled 
towards  him,  after  giving  up  all  hopes  of  making  him  another 
Heineccius.  It  was  pitiful ! A youth  with  such  remarkable 
dispositions,  who  would  not  be  assiduous  in  attendance  at 
lecture,  and  whose  amusement  during  lecture  was  to  sketch 
caricatures  of  various  law  dignitaries  in  his  note-book ; an- 


54 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


other  ornament  to  jurisprudence  irrecoverably  lost ! Indeed, 
the  collegiate  aspect  of  this  Leipsic  residence  was  not  one 
promising  to  professors  ; but  we  — instructed  by  the  result 
— lo-'  vv  how  much  better  he  was  employed  than  if  he  had 
filled  a hundred  volumes  of  note-books  by  diligent  attend- 
ance at  lecture.  He  studied  much,  in  a desultory  manner : 
be  studied  Moliere  and  Corneille  ; he  began  to  translate 
Le  Menteur.  The  theatre  was  a perpetual  attraction  ; and 
even  the  uneasy,  unsatisfied  condition  of  his  affections  was 
instructing  him  in  directions  whither  no  professor  could  lead 
him.  But  greater  than  all  was  the  influence  of  Shakespeare, 
whom  he  first  learned  a little  of  through  Dodd’s  Beauties  of 
Shakespeare , a work  not  much  prized  in  England,  where  the 
plays  form  part  of  our  traditional  education,  but  which  must 
have  been  a revelation  to  the  Germans  something  analogous 
to  what  Charles  Lamb’s  Specimens  of  the  Old  English  Drama 
was  to  us.  The  marvellous  strength  and  beauty  of  language, 
the  bold  and  natural  imagery  of  these  Beauties , startled  the 
young  poets  of  that  day,  like  the  discovery  of  huge  fossil 
remains  of  some  antediluvian  fauna ; and  to  gratify  the 
curiosity  thus  awakened,  he  says  there  came  Wieland’s 
prose  translation  of  several  plays,  which  he  studied  with 
enthusiasm.* 

There  are  no  materials  to  fill  up  the  gaps  of  his  narrative 
here,  so  that  I am  forced  to  leave  much  indistinct.  For 
instance,  he  has  told  us  that  Kathchen  and  he  were  no  longer 
lovers  ; but  we  find  him  writing  to  her  in  a friendly  and  even 
lover-like  tone  from  Frankfurt,  and  we  know  that  friendly 
intercourse  still  subsisted  between  them.  Of  this,  however, 
not  a word  occurs  in  the  Autobigraphy.  Nor  are  we  accu- 

* It  is  possible  that  Wieland’s  translation  only  then  fell  into  Goethe’s 
hands,  but  the  publication  was  commenced  before  his  arrival  in  Leipsic, 
namely,  in  1761. 


1767.] 


ART  STUDIES. 


55 


rately  informed  how  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  Breit- 
kopf  family.  Breitkopf  was  a bookseller  in  Leipsic,  in  whose 
house  Literature  and  Music  were  highly  prized.  Bernhard, 
the  eldest  son,  was  an  excellent  performer,  and  composed 
music  to  Goethe’s  songs,  which  were  published  in  1769, 
under  this  title,  Neue  Lieder  in  Melodiee7i  gesetzt  vo7i  Bern- 
hard  Theodor  Breitkopf.  The  poet  is  not  named.  This 
Liederb7ech  contains  twenty  songs,  the  majority  of  which  were 
subsequently  reprinted  in  the  poet’s  works.  They  are  love- 
songs,  and  contain  a love-philosophy  more  like  what  is  to  be 
found  in  Catullus,  Horace,  and  Wieland,  than  what  one 
would  expect  from  a boy,  did  we  not  remember  how  the 
braggadocio  of  youth  delights  in  expressing  roue  sentiments, 
as  if  to  give  itself  airs  of  profound  experience.  This  youth 
sings  with  gusto  of  inconstancy  : — 

“ Da  fuhl  ich  die  Freuden  der  wechselnden  Lust.” 

He  gayly  declares  that  if  one  mistress  leaves  you  another 
will  love  you,  and  the  second  is  sweeter  to  kiss  than  the 
first : — 

“ Es  kiisst  sich  so  siisse  der  Busen  der  Zweiten, 

Als  kaum  sich  der  Busen  der  Ersten  gekiisst.” 

Another  acquaintance,  and  one  more  directly  influential, 
was  that  of  Oeser,  the  director  of  the  Drawing  Academy. 
He  had  been  the  friend  and  teacher  of  Winckelmann,  and 
his  name  stood  high  among  connoisseurs.  Goethe,  who  at 
home  had  learned  a little  drawing,  joined  Oeser’s  class, 
where,  among  other  fellow-students,  was  the  Hardenberg  who 
afterwards  made  such  a noise  in  the  Prussian  political  world. 
He  joined  the  class,  and  did  his  best  to  acquire  by  labor  the 
skill  which  only  a talent  can  acquire.  That  he  made  little 
progress  in  drawing  we  learn  from  his  subsequent  confession 
no  less  than  from  his  failure  ; but  tuition  had  this  effect  at 
least,  — it  taught  him  to  use  his  eyes. 


56 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


Instruction  in  the  theory  of  Art  he  gained  from  Oeser, 
from  Winckelmann,  and  from  Laokoon,  the  incomparable  lit- 
tle book  which  Lessing  at  this  period  carelessly  flung  upon 
the  world.  Its  effect  upon  Goethe  can  only  be  appreciated 
by  those  who  early  in  life  have  met  with  this  work,  and  risen 
from  it  with  minds  widened,  strengthened,  and  inspired.* 
It  opened  a pathway  amid  confusion,  throwing  light  upon 
many  of  the  obscurest  problems  which  torment  the  artist. 
It  awakened  in  Goethe  an  intense  yearning  to  see  the  works 
of  ancient  masters ; and  these  beckoned  from  Dresden.  To 
Dresden  he  went.  But  here,  in  spite  of  Oeser,  Winckelmann, 
and  Lessing,  in  spite  of  grand  phrases  about  Art,  the  invin- 
cible tendency  of  his  nature  asserted  itself,  and  instead  of 
falling  into  raptures  with  the  great  Italian  pictures,  he  con- 
fesses that  he  took  their  merits  upon  trust,  and  was  really 
charmed  by  none  but  the  landscape  and  Dutch  painters, 
.whose  subjects  appealed  directly  to  his  experience.  He  did 
not-  feel  the  greatness  of  Italian  Art ; and  what  he  did  not 
feel  he  would  not  feign. 

It  is  worth  noticing  that  this  trip  to  Dresden  was  taken  in 
absolute  secrecy.  As,  many  years  later,  he  stole  away  to 
Italy  without  letting  his  friends  even  suspect  his  project,  so 
now  he  left  Leipsic  for  Dresden  without  a word  of  intima- 
tion. Probably  the  same  motive  actuated  him  in  both  in- 
stances. He  went  to  see,  to  enjoy,  to  learn,  and  did  not 
want  to  be  disturbed  by  personal  influence,  — by  other  peo- 
ple’s opinions. 

On  his  return  he  was  active  enough  with  drawing.  He 
made  the  acquaintance  of  an  engraver  named  Stock, t and 

* Lord  Macaulay  told  me  that  the  reading  of  this  little  book  formed 
an  epoch  in  his  mental  history,  and  that  he  learned  more  about  Art  from 
it  than  he  had  ever  learned  elsewhere. 

t This  Stock  had  two  amiable  daughters,  one  of  whom  married 
(1785)  Korner,  the  correspondent  of  Schiller,  and  father  of  the  poet. 


1767.] 


ART  STUDIES. 


57 


with  his  usual  propensity  to  try  his  hand  at  whatever  his 
friends  were  doing,  he  forthwith  began  to  learn  engraving. 
In  the  Mofgenblatt  for  1828  there  is  a detailed  account  of 
two  of  his  engravings,  both  representing  landscapes  with 
small  cascades  shut  in  by  rocks  and  grottoes ; at  the  foot  of 
each  are  these  words  : peint  par  A.  Theile , grave  par  Goethe . 
One  plate  is  dedicated  a Monseieur  Goethe  Conseiller  actuel  de 
S.  M.  Implriale , par  son  fils  tres  obeissant.  In  the  room 
which  they  show  to  strangers  in  his  house  in  Frankfurt,  there 
is  also  a specimen  of  his  engraving, — very  amateurish;  but 
Madame  von  Goethe  showed  me  one  in  her  possession  which 
really  has  merit. 

Melancholy,  wayward,  and  capricious,  he  allowed  Lessing 
to  pass  through  Leipsic  without  making  any  attempt  to  see 
the  man  he  so  much  admired : a caprice  he  afterwards  re- 
pented, for  the  opportunity  never  recurred.  Something  of 
his  hypochondria  was  due  to  mental,  but  more  to  physical 
causes.  Dissipation,  bad  diet  (especially  the  beer  and  coffee), 
and  absurd  endeavors  to  carry  out  Rousseau’s  preaching 
about  returning  to  a state  of  nature,  had  seriously  affected 
his  health.  The  crisis  came  at  last.  One  summer  night 
(1768)  he  was  seized  with  violent  hemorrhage.  He  had 
only  strength  enough  to  call  to  his  aid  the  fellow-student  who 
slept  in  the  next  room.  Medical  assistance  promptly  came. 
He  was  saved ; but  his  convalescence  was  embittered  by  the 
discovery  of  a tumor  on  his  neck,  which  lasted  some  time. 
His  recovery  was  slow,  but  it  seemed  as  if  it  relieved  him 
from  all  the  peccant  humors  which  had  made  him  hypochon- 
driacal, leaving  behind  an  inward  lightness  and  joyousness 
to  which  he  had  long  been  a stranger.  One  thing  greatly 
touched  him,  — the  sympathy  expressed  for  him  by  several 
eminent  men ; a sympathy  he  felt  to  be  quite  undeserved, 
for  there  was  not  one  among  them  whom  he  had  not  vexed 
3* 


58 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


or  affronted  by  his  caprices,  extravagances,  morbid  opposi- 
tion, and  stubborn  persistence. 

One  of  these  friends,  Langer,  not  only  made  an  exchange 
of  books  with  him,  giving  a set  of  classic  authors  for  a set  of 
German,  but  also,  in  devout  yet  not  dogmatic  conversation, 
led  his  young  friend  to  regard  the  Bible  in  another  light  than 
that  of  a merely  human  composition.  “I  loved  the  Bible 
and  valued  it,  for  it  was  almost  the  only  book  to  which  I 
owed  my  moral  culture.  Its  events,  dogmas,  and  symbols 
were  deeply  impressed  on  my  mind.”  He  therefore  felt  little 
sympathy  with  the  Deists,  who  were  at  this  time  agitating 
Europe  ; and  although  his  tendency  was  strongly  against  the 
Mystics,  he  was  afraid  lest  the  poetical  spirit  should  be  swept 
away  along  with  the  prophetical.  In  one  word,  he  was  in  a 
state  of  religious  doubt,  — “ destitute  of  faith,  yet  terrified  at 
scepticism.” 

This  unrest  and  this  bodily  weakness  he  carried  with  him, 
September,  1768,  from  Leipsic  to  Frankfurt,  whither  we  will 
follow  him. 


CHAPTER  III. 

RETURN  HOME. 

He  returned  home  a boy  in  years,  in  experience  a man. 
Broken  in  health,  unhappy  in  mind,  with  no  strong  impulses 
in  any  one  direction,  uncertain  of  himself  and  of  his  aims, 
he  felt,  as  he  approached  his  native  city,  much  like  a repent- 
ant prodigal  who  has  no  vision  of  the  fatted  calf  awaiting 
him.  His  father,  unable  to  perceive  the  real  progress  he 
had  made,  was  very  much  alive  to  the  slender  prospect  of  his 
becoming  a distinguished  jurist.  The  fathers  of  poets  are 


1770.]  RETURN  HO  A 

seldom  gratified  with  the  progress 
them  ; and  the  reason  is  that  they  c 
be  poets,  nor  understand  that  the  poet’s  orbit  is  not  the  same 
as  their  own.  They  tread  the  common  highway  on  which 
the  milestones  accurately  mark  distances ; and  seeing  that 
their  sons  have  trudged  but  little  way  according  to  this  meas- 
urement, their  minds  are  filled  with  misgivings.  Of  that 
silent  progress,  which  consists  less  in  travelling  on  the  broad 
highway  than  in  development  of  the  limbs  which  will  make  a 
sturdy  traveller,  parents  cannot  judge. 

Mother  and  sister,  however,  touched  by  the  worn  face,  and, 
woman-like,  more  interested  in  the  man  than  in  what  he  had 
achieved,  received  him  with  an  affection  which  compensated 
for  his  father’s  coldness.  There  is  quite  a pathetic  glimpse 
given  of  this  domestic  interior  in  the  Autobiography , where 
he  alludes  to  his  father’s  impatience  at  his  illness,  and  anx- 
iety for  his  speedy  recovery. 

We  find  him  in  cold,  unpleasant  relations  with  his  father, 
who  had  almost  excited  the  hatred  of  his  other  child,  Cor- 
nelia, by  the  stern,  pedantic,  pedagogic  way  in  which  he 
treated  her.  The  old  man  continued  to  busy  himself  with 
Avriting  his  travels  in  Italy,  and  with  instructing  his  daughter. 
She,  who  was  of  a restless,  excitable,  almost  morbid  dispo- 
sition, secretly  rebelled  against  his  tyranny,  and  made  her 
brother  the  confidant  of  all  her  griefs.  The  poor  mother  had 
a terrible  time  of  it,  trying  to  pacify  the  children,  and  to 
stand  between  them  and  their  father. 

Very  noticeable  is  one  detail  recorded  by  him.  He  had 
fallen  ill  again ; this  time  with  a stomach  disorder,  which  no 
therapeutic  treatment  in  the  power  of  Frankfurt  medicine 
seemed  to  mitigate.  ' The  family  physicjan  was  one  of  those 
duped  dupers,  who  still  clung  to  the  great  promises  of  Al- 
chemy. It  was  whispered  that  he  had  in  his  possession  a 


not  know  their  sons  to 


6o 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


marvellous  panacea,  which  was  only  to  be  employed  in  times 
of  greatest  need,  and  of  which,  indeed,  no  one  dared  openly 
speak.  Frau  Aja,  trembling  for  her  son,  besought  him  to 
employ  this  mysterious  salt.  He  consented.  The  patient 
recovered,  and  belief  in  the  physician’s  skill  became  more 
complete.  Not  only  was  the  poet  thus  restored  once  more  to 
health,  he  was  also  thereby  led  to  the  study  of  Alchemy,  and, 
as  he  narrates,  employed  himself  in  researches  after  the 
“ virgin  earth.”  In  the  little  study  of  that  house  in  the 
Hirsch-graben , he  collected  his  glasses  and  retorts,  and  fol- 
lowing the  directions  of  authorities,  sought,  for  a time,  to 
penetrate  the  mystery  which  then  seemed  so  penetrable.  It 
is  characteristic  of  his  ardent  curiosity  and  volatility  that  he 
should  have  now  devoted  the  long  hours  of  study  to  works 
such  as  Welling’s  Opus  Mago-cabbalisticum  et  Theosophicum , 
and  the  unintelligible  mystifications  and  diatribes  of  Paracel- 
sus. He  also  tried  Van  Helmont  (an  interesting  though  fan- 
tastic writer),  Basil  Valentine,  and  other  Alchemists.  These, 
however,  must  quickly  have  been  laid  aside.  They  were 
replaced  by  the  Compendium  and  the  Aphorisms  of  Boerhaave, 
who  at  that  period  filled  Europe  with  the  sound  of  his  name.* 
Goethe’s  studies  of  these  writings  were  valuable  as  prepara- 
tions for  Faust;  and  were  not  without  influence  on  his  subse- 
quent career  in  science. 

Renewed  intercourse  with  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg,  to- 
gether with  much  theological  and  philosophical  reading, 
brought  Religion  into  prominence  in  his  thoughts.  Paoli, 
the  Corsican  Patriot,  passed  through  Frankfurt  at  this  time, 

* So  little  can  contemporary  verdicts  settle  an  author’s  position,  that 
Boerhaave,  whose  Institutions  were  thought  worthy  of  a Commentary  in 
seven  quartos  by  the  great  Haller,  and  whose  Aphorisms  were  expanded 
into  five  quartos  by  the  illustrious  Van  Swieten,  is  now  nothing  but  a 


name. 


STRASBURG. 


6 1 


1770.] 

and  Goethe  saw  him  in  the  house  of  Bethmann,  the  rich 
merchant;  but,  with  this  exception,  Frankfurt  presented 
nothing  remarkable  to  him,  and  he  was  impatient  to  escape 
from  it.  His  health  was  sufficiently  restored  for  his  father 
to  hope  that  now  jurisprudence  could  be  studied  with  some 
success ; and  Strasburg  was  the  university  selected  for  that 
purpose. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

STRASBURG. 

He  reached  Strasburg  on  the  2d  April,  1770.  He  was 
now  turned  twenty,  and  a more  magnificent  youth  never, 
perhaps,  entered  the  Strasburg  gates.  Long  before  celebrity 
had  fixed  all  eyes  upon  him  he  was  likened  to  an  Apollo  ; 
and  once,  when  he  entered  a dining-room,  people  laid  down 
their  knives  and  forks  to  stare  at  the  beautiful  youth.  Pic- 
tures and  busts,  even  when  most  resembling,  give  but  a feeble 
indication  of  that  which  was  most  striking  in  his  appearance ; 
they  give  the  form  of  features,  but  not  the  play  of  features ; 
nor  are  they  very  accurate  as  to  the  form.  His  features  were 
large  and  liberally  cut,  with  the  fine  sweeping  lines  of  Greek 
art.  The  brow  was  lofty  and  massive,  and  from  beneath  it 
shone  large  lustrous  brown  eyes  of  marvellous  beauty,  their 
pupils  seeming  of  almost  unexampled  size.  The  slightly 
aquiline  nose  was  large  and  well  cut.  The  mouth  was  full, 
with  a short,  arched  upper  lip,  very  sensitive  and  expressive. 
The  chin  and  jaw  were  boldly  proportioned  ; and  the  head 
rested  on  a handsome  and  muscular  neck. 

In  stature  he  was  rather  above  the  middle  size  ; but  al- 
though not  really  tall,  he  had  the  aspect  of  a tall  man,  and  is 


62 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  il 


usually  so  described,  because  his  presence  was  very  impos- 
ing.* His  frame  was  strong,  muscular,  yet  sensitive.  While 
excelling  in  all  active  sports,  he  was  almost  a barometer  in 
sensitiveness  to  atmospheric  influences. 

Such,  externally,  was  the  youth  who  descended  at  the 
Hotel  zum  Geist , in  Strasburg,  this  2d  April,  and  who,  rid- 
ding himself  of  the  dust  and  ennui  of  a long  imprisonment 
in  the  diligence,  sallied  forth  to  gaze  at  the  famous  cathedral, 
which  made  a wonderful  impression  on  him  as  he  came  up  to 
it  through  the  narrow  streets.  The  Strasburg  Cathedral  not 
inaptly  serves  as  the  symbol  of  his  early  German  tendencies ; 
and  its  glorious  tower  is  always  connected,  in  my  mind,  with 
the  brief  but  ardent  endeavors  of  his  Hellenic  nature  to 
throw  itself  into  the  old  German  world.  German  his  spirit 
was  not,  but  we  shall  see  him,  under  the  shadow  of  this 
tower,  for  a moment  inspired  with  true  German  enthusiasm. 

His  lodgings  secured,  — No.  80,  on  the  south  side  of  the 
Fish  Market  (now  called  le  quai  de  bcitelier), — he  delivered 
his  letters  of  introduction,  and  arranged  to  dine  at  a table- 
dhote  kept  by  two  maiden  ladies,  named  Lauth,  in  the 
Kramergasse,  No.  13.  The  guests  here  were  about  ten  ip 
number,  mostly  medical.  Their  president  was  Dr.  Salzmann, 
a clean  old  bachelor  of  eight-and-forty,  scrupulous  in  his 
stockings,  immaculate  as  to  his  shoes  and  buckles,  with  hat 
under  his  arm,  and  scarcely  ever  on  his  head,  — a neat,  dap- 
per old  gentleman,  well  instructed,  and  greatly  liked  by  the 
poet,  to  whom  he  gave  excellent  advice,  and  for  whom  he 
found  a valuable  repetent.  f In  spite  of  the  services  of  this 

* Rauch,  the  sculptor,  who  made  the  well-known  statuette  of  Goethe, 
explained  this  to  me  as  owing  to  his  large  bust  and  erect  carriage. 

| The  medical  student  will  best  understand  what  a repetent  is,  if  the 
word  be  translated  a grinder ; the  university  student,  if  the  word  be 
translated  a coach . The  repetent  prepares  students  by  an  examination, 


1770.] 


STRASBURG. 


63 


excellent  repetent,  jurisprudence  wearied  him  considerably, 
according  to  his  account ; at  first,  however,  he  seems  to  have 
taken  to  it  with  some  pleasure,  as  we  learn  by  a letter,  in 
which  he  tells  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  a different  story  : 
“Jurisprudence  begins  to  please  me  very  much.  Thus  it  is 
with  all  things  as  with  Merseburg  beer  : the  first  time  we 
shudder  at  it,  and  having  drunk  it  for  a week,  we  cannot  do 
without  it.”  The  study  of  jurisprudence,  at  any  rate,  did  not 
absorb  him.  Scholl  has  published  a note-book  kept  during 
this  period,  which  reveals  an  astonishing  activity  in  desultory 
research.*  When  we  remember  that  the  society  at  his  table- 
(Thote  was  principally  of  medical  students,  we  are  prepared 
to  find  him  eagerly  throwing  himself  into  the  study  of  anat- 
omy and  chemistry.  He  attended  Lobstein’s  lectures  on 
anatomy,  Ehrmann’s  clinical  lectures,  with  those  of  his  son 
on  midwifery,  and  Spielman’s  on  chemistry.  Electricity  occu- 
pied him,  Franklin’s  great  discovery  having  brought  that 
subject  into  prominence.  No  less  than  nine  works  on  elec- 
tricity are  set  down  in  the  note-book  to  be  studied.  We  also 
see  from  this  note-book  that  chromatic  subjects  begin  to 
attract  him,  — the  future  antagonist  of  Newton  was  preluding 
in  the  science.  Alchemy  still  fascinated  him  ; and  he  wrote 
to  Fraulein  von  Klettenberg,  assuring  her  that  these  mystical 
studies  were  his  secret  mistresses.  With  such  a direction  of 
his  thoughts,  and  the  influence  of  this  pure,  pious  woman 
still  operating  upon  him,  we  can  imagine  the  disgust  which 
followed  his  study  of  the  Systeme  de  la  Nature,  then  making 
so  great  a noise  in  the  world.  This  dead  and  dull  exposi- 
tion of  an  atheism  as  superficial  as  it  was  dull,  must  have 
been  every  way  revolting  to  him  : irritating  to  his  piety,  and 

and  also  by  repeating  and  explaining  in  private  what  the  professor  has 
taught  in  the  lecture-hall. 

* Brief e und  Aufsatze  von  Goethe.  Herausgegeben  von  Adolf  Scholl. 


6 4 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE  [book  il 


unsatisfying  to  his  reason.  Voltaire’s  wit  and  Rousseau’s 
sarcasms  he  could  copy  into  his  note-book,  especially  when 
they  pointed  in  the  direction  of  tolerance  ; but  he  who  could 
read  Bayle,  Voltaire,  and  Rousseau  with  delight,  turned  from 
the  Systeme  de  la  Nature  with  scorn  ; especially  at  a time 
when  we  find  him  taking  the  sacrament,  and  trying  to  keep 
up  an  acquaintance  with  the  pious  families  to  which  Fraulein 
von  Klettenberg  had  introduced  him.  I say  trying , because 
even  his  good-will  could  not  long  withstand  their  dulness  and 
narrowness  ; he  was  forced  to  give  them  up,  and  confessed  so 
much  to  his  friend. 

In  a letter  of  this  date,  he  intimates  that  he  is  “ so  improved 
in  knowledge  of  Greek,  as  almost  to  read  Homer  without  a 
translation.  I am  a week  older;  that,  you  know,  says  a 
great  deal  with  me,  not  because  I do  much,  but  many  things.” 
Among  these  many  things,  we  must  note  his  ardent  search 
through  mystical  metaphysical  writings  for  the  material  on 
which  his  insatiable  appetite  could  feed.  Strange  revelations 
in  this  direction  are  afforded  by  his  note-book.  On  one  page 
there  is  a passage  from  Thomas  h.  Kempis,  followed  by  a list 
of  mystical  works  to  be  read ; on  another  page,  sarcastic  sen- 
tences from  Rousseau  and  Voltaire  ; on  a third  a reference  to 
Tauler.  The  book  contains  an  analysis  of  the  Phcedon  of 
Moses  Mendelssohn,  contrasted  with  that  of  Plato ; and  a 
defence  of  Giordano  Bruno  against  the  criticism  of  Bayle. 

Time  was  not  all  consumed  by  these  studies,  multifarious 
as  they  were.  Lively  Strasburg  had  its  amusements*  and 
Goethe  joined  his  friend  Salzmann  in  many  a pleasant  party. 
The  various  pleasure-grounds  and  public  gardens  were  always 
crowded  with  promenaders,  and  there  the  mixture  of  the  old 
national  costume  with  modern  fashions  gave  charming  variety 
to  the  scene,  and  made  the  pretty  women  still  more  attractive. 

He  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  two  sharply*  defined 


STRASBURG. 


65 


1770.I 

nationalities.  Alsatia,  and  especially  Strasburg,  although  be- 
longing to  France,  still  preserved  its  old  German  character. 
Eight  hundred  years  of  national  life  were  not  to  be  set  aside 
at  once,  when  it  pleased  the  powers,  at  the  peace  of  West- 
phalia, to  say  that  Alsatia  should  be  French.  Until  the  mid- 
dle of  the  eighteenth  century  the  old  German  speech,  costume, 
and  manners  were  so  dominant,  that  a Frankfurter,  or  a 
Mainzer,  found  himself  at  once  at  home  there.  But  just  be- 
fore the  outbreak  of  the  French  Revolution  the  gradual  influx 
of  officials  brought  about  a sort  of  fashion  in  French  costume. 
Milliners,  friseurs,  and  dancing-masters  had  done  their  best, 
or  their  worst,  to  “polish”  society.  But  the  surface  was 
rough,  and  did  not  take  kindly  to  this  polishing.  Side  by  side 
with  the  French  employe , there  was  the  old  German  professor, 
who  obstinately  declined  to  acquire  more  of  the  foreigners’ 
language  than  sufficed  for  daily  needs  and  household  matters  ; 
for  the  rest  he  kept  sturdily  Teutonic.  Even  in  costume  the 
imitation  was  mainly  confined  to  the  upper  classes.*  Goethe 
describes  the  maidens  of  the  bourgeoisie  still  wearing  their 
hair  in  one  long  plait,  falling  behind,  and  their  petticoats  of 
picturesque  but  periLaiis  brevity. 

Salzmann  introduced  him  to  several  families,  and  thus  more 
than  by  all  his  advice  helped  to  soften  down  the  exuberant 
expression  of  animal  spirits  which  very  often  sinned  against 
quiet  conventionalities;  for  by  inducing  him  to  frequent 
society,  it  forced  him  to  learn  that  demeanor  which  society 
imperatively  demands.  In  Wilhelm  Meister  great ' stress  is 
laid  upon  the  culture  necessary  to  fit  a man  of  genius  for 
society ; and  one  of  the  great  motives  advanced  for  the  pur- 
suance of  a theatrical  career  is  the  facility  it  affords  a man 
of  gaining  address. 

* Stoeber,  Der  Aktuar  Salzmann,  1855,  p.  7. 


E 


66 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  n. 


An  excitable,  impetuous  youth,  ambitious  of  shining  in 
society,  yet  painfully  conscious  of  the  unsuitableness  of  his 
previous  training  for  the  attainment  of  that  quietness  deemed 
so  necessary,  would  require  to  attend  to  every  trifle  which 
might  affect  his  deportmenf.  Thus,  although  he  had  magnifi- 
cent hair,  he  allowed  the  hairdresser  to  tie  it  up  in  a bag,  and 
affix  a false  queue.  This  obliged  him  to  remain  propped  up 
powdered,  from  an  early  hour  of  the  morning,  and  also  to  keep 
from  overheating  himself,  and  from  violent  gestures,  lest  he 
should  betray  the  false  ornament.  “ This  restraint  contributed 
much  towards  making  me  for  a time  more  gentle  and  polite  in 
my  bearing ; and  I got  accustomed  to  shoes  and  stockings, 
and  to  carrying  my  hat  under  my  arm ; I did  not,  however, 
neglect  wearing  fine  under-stockings  as  a protection  against 
the  Rhine  gnats.”  To  these  qualifications  as  a cavalier,  he 
added  those  of  an  excellent  swordsman  and  rider.  With  his 
fellow-students,  he  had  abundant  exercise  in  the  use  of  the 
rapier ; and  prompted,  I presume,  by  his  restless  desire  to  do 
all  that  his  friends  did,  he  began  to  learn  the  violoncello ! 

His  circle  of  friends  widened  ; and  even  that  of  his  fellow- 
boarders  in  the  Kramergasse  increased.  Among  the  latter, 
two  deserve  special  mention,  — Jung  Stilling  and  Franz 
Lerse.  Stilling  has  preserved  an  account  of  their  first  meet- 
ing.* About  twenty  were  assembled  at  dinner,  when  a young 
man  entered  the  room  in  high  spirits,  whose  large,  clear  eyes, 
splendid  brow,  and  beautifully  proportioned  figure  irresistibly 
drew  the  attention  of  Troost  and  Stilling.  The  former  re- 
marked, “ That  must  be  an  extraordinary  man  ! ” Stilling  as- 
sented ; but  feared  lest  they  might  be  somewhat  annoyed  by 
him,  he  looked  such  a wild,  rollicking  fellow.  Meanwhile  they 
learned  that  this  student,  whose  unconstrained  freedom  and 


* Stilling’s  Wanderschaft , p.  158. 


1770.] 


STRASBURG. 


67 


tiplomb  made  them  draw  under  their  shells,  was  named  Herr 
Goethe.  Dinner  proceeded.  Goethe,  who  sat  opposite  Stilling, 
had  completely  the  lead  in  conversation,  without  once  seeking 
it.  At  length  one  of  the  company  began  quizzing  the  wig  of 
poor  Stilling ; and  the  fun  was  relished  by  all  except  Troost, 
Salzmann,  and  one  who,  indignantly  reproving  them  for  making 
game  of  so  inoffensive  a person,  silenced  the  ridicule  immedi- 
ately ; this  was  none  other  than  the  large-eyed  student  whose 
appearance  had  excited  Stilling’s  uneasiness.  The  friendship 
thus  begun  was  continued  by  the  sympathy  and  tender  affec- 
tionateness Goethe  always  displayed  towards  the  simple,  ear- 
nest, and  unfriended  thinker,  whose  deep  religious  convic- 
tions, and  trusting  child-like  nature,  singularly  interested  him. 
Goethe  was  never  tired  of  listening  to  the  story  of  his  life.  In- 
stinctively he  sought  on  all  sides  to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of 
humanity,  and,  by  probing  every  man’s  experience,  to  make  it 
his  own.  Here  was  a poor  charcoal-burner,  who  from  tailoring 
had  passed  to  keeping  a school ; that  failing,  he  had  resumed 
his  needle ; and  having  joined  a religious  sect,  had,  in  silent 
communion  with  his  own  soul,  gained  for  himself  a sort  of 
culture  which  raised  him  above  the  ordinary  height  of  men : 
what  was  there  in  his  life  or  opinions  to  captivate  the  riotous, 
sceptical,  prosperous  student?  There  was  earnestness, — 
there  was  genuineness.  Goethe  was  eminently  qualified  to 
become  the  friend  of  one  who  held  opposite  convictions  to  his 
own,  for  his  tolerance  was  large  and  genuine,  and  he  respected 
every  real  conviction.  Sympathizing  with  Stilling,  listening 
to  him,  and  dexterously  avoiding  any  interference  with  his 
religious  faith,  he  was  not  only  enabled  to  be  his  friend,  but 
also  to  learn  quietly  and  surely  the  inner  nature  of  such  men. 

Franz  Lerse  attracted  him  by  different  qualities  : upright 
nianliness,  scrupulous  orderliness,  dry  humor,  and  a talent 
for  reconciling  antagonists.  As  a memorial  of  their  friend- 


68 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


ship  his  name  is  given  to  the  gallant  fellow  in  Gotz  von 
Berlichingen  who  knows  how  to  subordinate  himself  with 
dignity. 

Salzmann  had  some  ye^rs  before  founded  a sort  of  club, 
or,  as  Stilling  calls  it,  Gesellschaft  der  Schonen  Wissenschaften> 
the  object  of  which  was  to  join  a book-society  with  a debat- 
ing-club.  In  1763  - 64  this  club  had  among  its  members  no 
less  a person  than  O.  F.  Muller,  the  renowned  helminthol- 
ogist; and  nowin  1770-71  itnumbered, among  others,  Goethe, 
Lerse,  Jung  Stilling,  Lenz,  Weyland,  and  was  honored  by 
the  presence  of  Herder,  who  was  then  writing  his  work  on 
the  Origin  of  Language. 

Generally  speaking,  Goethe  is  so  liberal  in  information 
about  his  friends  and  contemporaries,  and  so  sparing  of 
precise  indications  of  his  own  condition,  that  we  are  left  in 
the  dark  respecting  much  that  would  be  welcome  knowledge. 
There  is  one  thing  mentioned  by  him  which  is  very  significant  : 
although  his  health  was  sufficiently  established  for  ordinary 
purposes,  he  still  suffered  from  great  irritability.  Loud  sounds 
were  disagreeable  to  him  ; diseased  objects  aroused  loathing 
and  horror.  And  he  was  especially  troubled  with  giddiness, 
which  came  over  him  whenever  he  looked  down  from  a height. 
All  these  infirmities  he  resolved  to  conquer,  and  that  some- 
what violently.  In  the  evening  when  they  beat  the  tattoo, 
he  went  close  to  the  drums,  though  the  powerful  rolling 
and  beating  of  so  many  seemed  enough  to  make  his  heart 
burst  in  his  bosom.  Alone  he  ascended  the  highest  pinnacle 
of  the  cathedral,  and  sat  in  what  is  called  the  neck,  under  the 
crown,  for  a quarter  of  an  hour  before  venturing  to  step  out 
again  into  the  open  air.  Standing  on  a platform  scarcely  an 
ell  square,  he  saw  before  him  a boundless  prospect,  the 
church  and  the  supports  of  his  standing-place  being  con- 
cealed by  the  ornaments.  He  felt  exactly  as  if  carried  up 


STRASBURG. 


69 


1770.] 

in  a balloon.  These  painful  sensations  he  repeated  until 
they  became  quite  indifferent ; he  subsequently  derived  great 
advantage  from  this  conquest  in  mountainous  excursions  and 
geological  studies.  Anatomy  was  also  of  double  value,  as  it 
taught  him  to  tolerate  the  most  repulsive  sights,  while  satisfy- 
ing his  thirst  for  knowledge.  He  succeeded  so  well,  that  no 
hideous  sight  could  disturb  his  self-possession.  He  also 
sought  to  steel  himself  against  the  terrors  of  imagination. 
The  awful  and  shuddering  impressions  of  darkness  in  church- 
yards, solitary  places,  churches  and  chapels  by  night,  he  con- 
trived to  render  indifferent,  — so  much  so,  that  when  a desire 
came  over  him  to  recall  in  such  scenes  the  pleasing  shudder 
of  youth,  he  could  scarcely  succeed,  even  by  the  strangest 
and  most  terrific  images. 

A handsome  youth  unable  to  dance  was  an  anomaly  in 
Strasburg.  Not  a Sunday  evening  passed  without  the  pleas- 
ure-gardens being  crowded  with  gay  dancers  ; galas  frequently 
enlivened  the  week  ; and  the  merry  Alsatians,  then  as  now, 
seldom  met  but  they  commenced  spinning  round  in  the  waltz. 
Into  these  gardens,  amidst  these  waltzers,  Goethe  constantly 
went,  — yet  could  not  waltz.  He  resolved  at  length  to  learn. 
A friend  recommended  him  to  a dancing-master  of  repute, 
who  soon  pronounced  himself  gratified  with  the  progress 
made. 

This  master,  a dry,  precise,  but  amiable  Frenchman,  had 
two  daughters,  who  assisted  him  at  his  lessons,  acting  both  as 
partners  and  correctors.  Two  pretty  girls,  both  under  twenty, 
charming  with  French  vivacity  and  coquetry,  could  not  fail 
to  interest  the  young  poet ; nor  could  the  graceful,  handsome 
youth  fail  to  create  an  impression  on  two  girls  whose  lives 
were  somewhat  lonesome.  Symptoms  of  this  interest  very 
soon  showed  themselves.  The  misfortune  was  that  the  state 
of  their  feelings  made  what  dramatists  call  a “ situation.” 


70 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


Goethe’s  heart  inclined  towards  Emilia,  who  loved  another ; 
while  that  of  Lucinda,  the  elder  sister,  was  bestowed  upon 
him.  Emilia  was  afraid  to  trust  herself  too  much  with  him  ; 
but  Lucinda  was  always  at  hand,  ready  to  waltz  with  him,  to 
protract  his  lesson,  or  to  show  him  little  attentions.  There 
were  not  many  pupils  ; so  that  he  often  remained  after  his 
lesson  to  chat  away  the  time,  or  to  read  aloud  to  them  a 
romance  : dangerous  moments  ! 

He  saw  how  things  stood,  yet  puzzled  himself  about  the 
reserve  of  the  younger  sister.  The  cause  of  it  came  out  at 
last.  One  evening,  after  the  dance  was  over,  Lucinda  de- 
tained him  in  the  dancing-room,  telling  him  that  her  sister 
was  in  the  sitting-room  with  a fortune-teller,  who  was  disclos- 
ing the  condition  of  a lover  to  whom  the  girl’s  heart  was 
given.  “Mine,”  said  Lucinda,  “is  free,  and  I must  get  used 
to  its  being  slighted.” 

He  tried  to  parry  this  thrust  by  divers  little  compliments  ; 
and,  indiscreetly  enough,  advised  her  to  try  her  own  fate  with 
the  fortune-teller,  offering  to  do  the  same  himself.  Lucinda 
did  not  like  that  tampering  with  fate,  declaring  that  the  dis- 
closures of  the  oracle  were  too  true  to  be  made  a matter  of 
sport.  Probably  this  piqued  him  into  a little  more  earnest- 
ness than  he  had  shown,  for  ultimately  he  persuaded  her  to 
go  into  the  sitting-room  with  him.  They  found  Emilia  much 
pleased  with  the  information  that  she  had  received  from  tne 
pythoness,  who  was  highly  flattered  at  the  new  devotee  te- 
ller shrine.  A handsome  reward  was  promised  her  if  she 
should  disclose  the  truth.  With  the  customary  ceremonial 
she  began  to  tell  the  fortune  of  the  elder  sister.  She  hes- 
itated. “O,  I see,”  said  Emilia,  “that  you  have  something 
unpleasant  to  tell.”  Lucinda  turned  pale,  but  said,  “ Speak 
out ; it  will  not  cost  me  my  life.”  The  fortune-teller  heaved 
a deep  sigh,  and  proceeded  with  her  disclosures.  Lucinda, 


S7RASBURG. 


71 


1770.] 

she  said,  was  in  love ; but  her  love  was  not  returned,  — 
another  person  standing  in  the  way.  And  she  went  on  with 
more  in  the  same  style.  It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  that 
the  sibyl  should  readily  enough  interpret  the  little  drama 
which  was  then  acting  by  the  youth  and  two  girls  before 
her  eyes.  Lucinda  showed  evidence  of  distress,  and  the  old 
woman  endeavored  to  give  a better  turn  to  the  affair  by  throw- 
ing out  hopes  of  letters  and  money.  “ Letters,”  said  Lucinda, 
“ I do  not  expect,  and  money  I do  not  want.  If  I love  as 
you  say,  I have  a right  to  be  loved  in  return.”  The  fortune- 
teller shuffled  the  cards  again,  but  that  only  made  matters 
worse  ; the  girl  now  appeared  in  the  oracular  vision  in  greater 
trouble,  her  lover  at  a greater  distance.  A third  shuffle  of  the 
cards  was  still  worse  : Lucinda  burst  into  a passionate  flood 
of  tears,  and  rushed  from  the  room.  “ Follow  her,”  said 
Emilia,  “and  comfort  her.”  But  he  hesitated,  not  seeing 
what  comfort  he  could  well  give,  as  he  could  not  assure  her 
of  some  return  for  her  affection.  “ Let  us  go  together,” 
he  replied.  Emilia  doubted  whether  her  presence  would  do 
good  ; but  she  consented.  Lucinda  had  locked  herself 
in  ; and  paying  the  old  woman  for  her  work,  Goethe  left  the 
house. 

He  had  scarcely  courage  to  revisit  the  sisters  ; but  on  the 
third  day  Emilia  sent  for  him,  and  he  received  his  lesson  as 
usual.  Lticinda,  however,  was  absent,  and  when  he  asked 
for  her,  Emilia  told  him  that  she  was  in  bed,  declaring  that 
she  should  die.  She  had  thrown  out  great  reproaches  against 
him  for  his  ungrateful  behavior.  “ And  yet  I do  not  know,” 
said  he,  “ that  I am  guilty  of  having  expressed  any  sort  of 
affection  for  her.  I know  somebody  who  can  bear  me  witness 
of  that.”  Emilia  smiled.  ‘‘  I comprehend,”  she  said  ; “ but 
if  we  are  not  careful  we  shall  all  find  ourselves  in  a disas- 
trous position.  Forgive  me  if  I say  .that  you  must  not  go  on 


72 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [hook  ii. 


with  your  lessons.  My  father  says  that  he  is  ashamed  to 
take  your  money  any  longer,  unless  you  mean  to  pursue  the 
art  of  dancing,  since  you  know  already  what  is  needed  by  a 
young  man  in  the  world.”  “ Do  you  tell  me  to  avoid  the 
house,  Emilia?”  he  asked.  “Yes,”  she  said,  “but  not  on 
my  own  account.  When  you  had  gone  the  other  day,  I had 
the  cards  cut  for  you,  and  the  same  answer  was  given  thrice. 
You  were  surrounded  by  friends,  and  all  sorts  of  good  for- 
tune, but  the  ladies  kept  aloof  from  you : my  poor  sister 
stood  farthest  of  all.  One  other  constantly  came  near  to 
you,  but  never  close,  for  a third  person,  a man,  always  came 
between.  I will  confess  that  I thought  I was  myself  this 
second  lady,  and  now  you  will  understand  my  advice.  I 
have  promised  myself  to  another,  and  until  now  I loved  him 
more  than  any  one.  Yet  your  presence  might  become  more 
dangerous  to  me  than  it  has  been,  and  then  what  a position 
would  be  yours  between  two  sisters,  one  of  whom  you  would 
have  made  miserable  by  your  affection,  and  the  other  by  your 
coldness.”  She  held  out  her  hand  and  bade  him  farewell ; 
she  then  led  him  to  the  door,  and  in  token  that  it  was  to  be 
their  last  meeting,  she  threw  herself  upon  his  bosom  and 
kissed  him  tenderly.  Just  as  she  had  put  his  arms  round  her, 
a side  door  flew  open,  and  her  sister,  in  a light  but  decorous 
dressing-gown,  rushed  in,  crying,  “ You  shall  not  be  the  only 
one  to  take  leave  of  him  ! ” Emilia  released  him.  Lucinda 
took  him  in  her  arms,  pressed  her  black  locks  against  his 
cheeks,  remained  thus  for  some  time,  and  then  drawing  back 
looked  him  earnestly  in  the  face.  He  took  her  hand  and 
tried  to  muster  some  kind  expressions  to  soothe  her,  but  she 
turned  away,  walked  passionately  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
then  threw  herself  in  great  agitation  into  a corner  of  the 
sofa.  Emilia  went  up  to  her,  but  was  violently  repulsed,  and 
a scene  ensued  which  had  in  it,  says  the  principal  performer, 


1770.] 


STRASBURG. 


73 


nothing  really  theatrical,  although  it  could  only  be  represented 
on  the  stage  by  an  actor  of  sensibility.  Lucinda  poured  forth 
reproaches  against  her  sister.  “This,”  said. she,  “is  not  the 
first  heart-beating  for  me  that  you  have  wheedled  away.  Was 
it  not  so  with  the  one  now  betrothed  to  you,  while  I looked 
on  and  bore  it  ? I,  only,  know  the  tears  it  cost  me ; and 
now  you  would  rob  me  of  this  one.  How  many  would  you 
manage  to  keep  at  once?  I am  frank  and  easy-tempered, 
and  all  think  they  understand  me  at  once,  and  may  slight 
me.  You  are  secret  and  quiet,  and  make  people  wonder  at 
what  may  be  concealed  behind  ; there  is  nothing  there  but  a 
cold,  selfish  heart,  sacrificing  everything  to  itself.”  Emilia 
seated  herself  by  her  sister,  and  remained  silent  ; while 
Lucinda,  growing  more  excited,  began  to  betray  matters  not 
quite  proper  for  him  to  hear.  Emilia  made  a sign  to  him  to 
withdraw ; but  Lucinda  caught  the  sound,  sprang  towards 
him,  and  then  remained  lost  in  thought.  “I  know  that  I 
have  lost  you,”  she  said  : “ I claim  you  no  more ; but  neither 
shall  you  have  him.”  So  saying,  she  grasped  him  wildly  by 
the  head,  with  her  hands  thrust  among  his  hair,  pressed  her 
face  to  his,  and  kissed  him  repeatedly  on  the  mouth.  “ Now 
fear  my  curse  ! Woe  upon  woe,  for  ever  and  ever,  to  her  who 
for  the  first  time  after  me  kisses  these  lips ! Dare  to  sport 
with  him  now  ! Heaven  hears  my  curse  ! And  you,  begone, 
begone  while  you  may  ! ” 

He  hurried  from  the  house,  never  to  return. 


74 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA. 

One  thing  very  noticeable  in  this  Strasburg  period  is  the 
thoroughly  German  culture  it  gave  him.  In  those  days  cul- 
ture was  mostly  classical  and  French.  Classical  studies  had 
never  exercised  much  influence  over  him ; and,  indeed, 
throughout  his  career,  he  approached  antiquity  more  through 
Art  than  through  Literature.  To  the  French,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  owed  a great  deal,  both  of  direction  and  material. 
A revival  of  the  old  German  nationality  was,  however, 
actively  agitated  at  this  epoch.  Klopstock,  Lessing,  Herder, 
Shakespeare,  and  Ossian  were  the  rivals  opposed  to  France. 
A feeling  of  national  pride  gave  its  momentum  to  this  change 
in  taste.  Gothic  art  began  to  be  considered  the  true  art  of 
modern  times. 

At  the  table-d'hote  our  friends,  all  German,  not  only  banished 
the  French  language,  but  made  a point  of  being  in  every  way 
unlike  the  French.  French  literature  was  ridiculed  as  affected, 
insincere,  unnatural.  The  truth,  homely  strength,  and  sim- 
plicity of  the  German  character  were  set  against  this  literature 
of  courtiers.  Goethe  had  been  dabbling  in  mediaeval  studies,  • 
had  been  awe-struck  by  the  cathedral,  had  been  inspired 
by  Shakespeare,  and  had  seen  Lessing’s  iconoclastic  wit 
scattering  the  pretensions  of  French  poetry.  Moreover, 
he  had  read  the  biography  of  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,  and  the 
picture  of  that  Titan  in  an  age  of  anarchy  had  so  impressed 
itself  upon  him,  that  the  conception  of  a dramatic  reproduc- 
tion of  it  had  grown  up  in  his  mind.  Faust  also  lay  there  as 
a germ.  The  legend  of  that  wonder-worker  especially  at- 
tracted him,  now  that  he  was  in  the  condition  into  which 


HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA . 


1770- 


youths  so  readily  fall  after  a brief  and  unsatisfactory  attempt  to 
penetrate  the  mysteries  of  science.  “ Like  him,  too,  I had 
swept  the  circle  of  science,  and  had  early  learned  its  vanity ; 
like  him,  I had  trodden  various  paths,  always  returning  unsat- 
isfied.” The  studies  of  alchemy,  medicine,  jurisprudence, 
philosophy,  and  theology,  which  had  so  long  engaged  him, 
made  him  feel  a personal  interest  in  the  old  Faust  legend. 

In  such  a mood  the  acquaintance  with  Herder  was  of  great 
importance.  Herder  was  five  years  his  senior,  and  had 
already  created  a name  for  himself.  He  came  to  Strasburg 
with  an  eye-disease,  which  obliged  him  to  remain  there  the 
whole  winter,  during  the  cure.  Goethe,  charmed  with  this 
new  vigorous  intellect,  attended  on  him  during  the  operation, 
and  sat  with  him  morning  and  evening  during  his  convales- 
cence, listening  to  the  wisdom  which  fell  from  his  lips,  as  a 
pupil  listens  to  a much-loved  master.  Great  was  the  contrast 
between  the  two  men,  yet  the  difference  did  not  separate 
them.  Herder  was  decided,  clear,  pedagogic ; knowing  his 
own  aims,  and  fond  of  communicating  his  ideas.  Goethe 
was  sceptical  and  inquiring,  Herder  rude,  sarcastic,  and  bit- 
ter ; Goethe  amiable  and  infinitely  tolerant.  The  bitterness 
which  repelled  so  many  friends  from  Herder  could  not  repel 
Goethe  : it  was  a peculiarity  of  his  to  be  at  all  times  able  to 
learn  from  antagonistic  natures ; meeting  them  on  the  com- 
mon ground  of  sympathy,  he  avoided  those  subjects  on  which 
inevitably  they  must  clash.  It  is  somewhat  curious  that  ah 
though  Herder  took  a great  liking  to  his  young  friend,  and 
was  grateful  for  his  kind  attentions,  he  seems  to  have  had  little 
suspicion  of  his  genius.  The  only  fragment  we  have  of  that 
period,  which  gives  us  a hint  of  his  opinion,  is  in  a letter  to 
his  bride,  dated  February,  1772  : “Goethe  is  really  a good 
fellow,  only  Somewhat  light  and  sparrow-like,*  for  which  I 

* Nur  etwas  leicht  und  Spatzenmassig : I translate  the  phrase,  leaving 


w 

THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 

incessantly  reproach  him.  He  was  almost  the  only  one  who 
visited  me  during  my  illness  in  Strasburg  whom  I saw  with 
pleasure  ; and  I believe  I influenced  him  in  more  ways  than 
one  to  his  advantage.”  His  vanity  may  have  stood  between 
Goethe  and  himself ; or  he  may  have  been  too  conscious  of 
his  young  friend’s  defects  to  think  much  of  his  genius. 
“ Herder,  Herder,”  Goethe  writes  to  him  from  Strasburg,  “ be 
to  me  what  you  are.  If  I am  destined  to  be  your  planet,  so 
will  I be,  and  willingly  and  truly,  a friendly  moon  to  your  earth. 
But  you  must  feel  that  I would  rather  be  Mercury,  the  last, 
the  smallest  of  the  seven,  to  revolve  with  you  about  the  sun, 
than  the  first  of  the  five  which  turn  around  Saturn.”*  In 
his  Autobiography , he  says,  that  he  withheld  from  Herder  his 
intention  of  writing  “ Gotz  ” ; but  there  is  a passage  in  Her- 
der’s work  on  German  Art,  addressed  to  Goethe,  which  very 
plainly  alludes  to  this  intention,  t Such  oversights  are  inev- 
itable in  retracing  the  minor  details  of  the  past. 

There  was  contrast  enough  between  the  two,  in  age,  charac- 
ter, intellect,  and  knowledge,  to  have  prevented  any  very  close 
sympathy.  Herder  loved  the  abstract  and  ideal  in  men  and 
things,  and  was  forever  criticising  and  complaining  of  the  indi- 
vidual, because  it  did  not  realize  the  ideal  standard.  What 
Gervinus  says  of  Herder’s  relation  to  Lessing,  namely,  that 
he  loved  him  when  he  considered  him  as  a whole,  but  could 
never  cease  plaguing  him  about  details,  holds  good  also  of 

the  reader  to  interpret  it,  for  twenty  Germans  have  given  twenty  different 
meanings  to  the  word  “sparrow-like,”  some  referring  to  the  chattering  of 
sparrows,  others  to  the  boldness  of  sparrows,  others  to  the  curiosity  of 
sparrows,  and  others  to  the  libertine  character  of  sparrows.  Whether 
Herder  meant  gay,  volatile,  forward,  careless,  or  amorous,  I cannot 
decide. 

* A us  Herder's  Nachlass,  I.  p.  28. 

t Herder,  Von  deutschen  Art  und  Kunst , p.  112. 


HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA . 


77 


1770.] 

his  relation  to  Goethe  through  life.  Goethe  had  little  of  that 
love  of  mankind  in  the  abstract,  which  to  Herder  and  so 
many  others  seems  the  substitute  for  individual  love,  — which 
animates  philanthropists  who  are  sincere  in  their  philanthropy, 
even  when  they  are  bad  husbands,  bad  fathers,  bad  brothers, 
and  bad  friends.  He  had,  instead  of  this,  keen  sympathy 
with  individual  men.  His  concrete  and  affectionate  nature 
was  more  attracted  to  men  than  to  abstractions.  It  is  because 
his  antagonists  do  not  recognize  this  that  they  declaim  against 
his  “ indifference  ” to  political  wants,  to  history,  and  to  many 
of  the  great  questions  which  affect  humanity. 

Herder’s  influence  on  Goethe  was  manifold,  but  mainly  in 
the  direction  of  poetry.  He  taught  him -to  look  at  the  Bible 
as  a magnificent  illustration  of  the  truth  that  poetry  is  the 
product  of  a national  spirit,  not  the  privilege  of  a cultivated 
few.  From  the  poetry  of  the  Hebrew  people  he  led  him  to 
other  illustrations  of  national  song,  Homer  and  Ossian  at 
their  head.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Ossian  made  the  tour 
of  Europe,  and  everywhere  met  believers.  Goethe  was  so 
delighted  with  the  wild  northern  singer,  that  he  translated 
the  song  of  “ Selma,”  and  afterwards  incorporated  it  in 
Werther.  Besides  Shakespeare  and  Ossian,  he  also  learned 
through  Herder  to  appreciate  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield;  and 
the  exquisite  picture  there  painted,  he  was  now  to  see  living 
in  the  parsonage  of  Frederika’s  father. 

Upon  the  broad  and  lofty  gallery  of  the  Strasburg  Cathe- 
dral he  and  his  companions  often  met  “ to  salute  the  setting 
sun  with  brimming  goblets  of  Rhine  wine.”  The  calm  wide 
landscape  stretched  itself  for  miles  before  them,  and  they 
pointed  out  the  several  spots  which  memory  endeared  to 
each.  One  spot,  above  all  others,  has  interest  for  us, — 
Sesenheim,  the  home  of  Frederika.  Of  all  the  women  who 
enjoyed  the  distinction  of  Goethe’s  love,  none  have  been 


78 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  Ibook  II. 


made  so  fascinating  as  Frederika.  Her  idyllic  presence  is 
familiar  to  every  lover  of  Geman  literature,  through  the 
charming  episode  of  the  Autobiography , over  which  the  poet 
lingered  with  peculiar  delight.  The  secretary  to  whom  this 
episode  was  dictated,  told  me  how  much  affected  Goethe 
seemed  to  be  as  these  scenes  revisited  memory ; walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  with  his  hands  behind  him,  he  often 
stopped  in  his  walk,  and  paused  in  the  dictation  : then  after 
a long  silence,  followed  by  a deep  sigh,  he  continued  the 
narrative  in  a lower  tone. 

Weyland,  a fellow-boarder,  had  often  spoke  of  a clergyman 
who,  with  his  wife  and  two  amiable  daughters,  lived  near 
Drusenheim,  a village  about  sixteen  miles  from  Strasburg. 
Early  in  October,  1770,  Weyland  proposed  to  his  friend  to 
accompany  him  on  a visit  to  the  worthy  pastor.  It  was  agreed 
between  them  that  Weyland  should  introduce  him  under  the 
guise  of  a shabby  theological  student.  His  love  of  incognito 
often  prompted  him  to  such  disguises.  In  the  present  in- 
stance he  borrowed  some  old  clothes,  and  combed  his  hair  in 
such  a way  that  when  Weyland  saw  him  he  burst  out  into  a fit  of 
laughter.  They  set  forth  in  high  glee.  At  Drusenheim  they 
stopped,  Weyland  to  make  himself  spruce,  Goethe  to  rehearse 
his  part.  Riding  across  the  meadows  to  Sesenheim,  they  left 
their  horses  at  the  inn,  and  walked  leisurely  towards  the  par- 
sonage, — an  old  and  somewhat  dilapidated  farm-house,  but 
very  picturesque,  and  very  still.  They  found  Pastor  Brion  at 
home,  and  were  welcomed  by  him  in  a friendly  manner.  The 
rest  of  the  family  were  in  the  fields.  Weyland  went  after 
them,  leaving  Goethe  to  discuss  parish  interests  with  the  pas- 
tor, who  soon  grew  confidential.  Presently  the  wife  ap- 
peared ; and  she  was  followed  by  the  eldest  daughter  bouncing 
into  the  room,  inquiring  after  Frederika,  and  hurrying  away 
again  to  seek  her. 


HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA. 


79 


1770.] 

Refreshments  were  brought,  and  old  acquaintances  were 
talked  over  with  Weyland,  — Goethe  listening.  Then  the 
daughter  returned,  uneasy  at  not  having  found  Frederika.  This 
little  domestic  fuss  about  Frederika  prepared  the  poet  for  her 
appearance.  At  length  she  came  in.  Both  gprls  wore  the 
national  costume,  with  its  short,  white,  full  skirt  and  fur- 
below, not  concealing  the  neatest  of  ankles,  a tight  bodice 
and  black  taffeta  apron.  Frederika’s  straw  hat  hung  on  her 
arm ; and  the  beautiful  braids  of  her  fair  hair  drooped  on  a 
delicate  white  neck.  Merry  blue  eyes,  and  a piquant  little 
nez  retrousse  completed  her  attractions.  In  gazing  on  this 
bright  young  creature,  then  only  sixteen,  Goethe  felt  ashamed 
of  the  disguise.  It  hurt  his  amour-propre  to  appear  thus 
before  her  like  a bookish  student,  shorn  of  all  personal  ad- 
vantages. Meanwhile  conversation  rattled  on  between  Wey- 
land and  the  family.  Endless  was  the  list  of  uncles,  aunts, 
nieces,  cousins,  gossips,  and  guests  they  had  something  to 
say  about,  leaving  him  completely  excluded  from  the  conver- 
sation. Frederika,  seeing  this,  seated  herself  by  him,  and 
with  charming  frankness  began  to  talk  to  him.  Music  was 
lying  on  the  harpsichord  ; she  asked  him  if  he  played,  and  on 
his  modestly  qualified  affirmative,  begged  him  “to  favor 
them.”  Her  father,  however,  suggested  that  she  ought  to 
begin,  by  a song.  She  sat  down  to  the  harpsichord,  which 
was  somewhat  out  of  tune,  and,  in  a provincial  style,  per- 
formed several  pieces,  such  as  then  were  thought  enchanting. 
After  this  she  began  to  sing.  The  song  was  tender  and 
melancholy,  but  she  was  apparently  not  in  the  mood,  for, 
acknowledging  her  failure,  she  rose  and  said,  “ If  I sing  badly 
it  is  not  the  fault  of  my  harpsichord  nor  of  my  teacher  : let  us 
go  into  the  open  air,  and  then  you  shall  hear  my  Alsatian  and 
Swiss  songs.”  Into  the  air  they  went,  and  soon  her  merry 
voice  carolled  forth  : — 


So 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  n. 


“ I come  from  a forest  as  dark  as  the  night, 

And  believe  me,  I love  thee,  my  only  delight. 

Ei  ja,  ei  ja,  ei,  ei,  ei,  ei,  ja,  ja,  ja ! ” * 

He  was  already  a captive. 

His  tendency  to  see  pictures  and  poetry  in  the  actual 
scenes  of  life  here  made  him  see  realized  the  Wakefield 
family.  If  Pastor  Brion  did  not  accurately  represent  Mr. 
Primrose,  yet  he  might  stand  for  him  ; the  elder  daughter  for 
Olivia,  the  younger  for  Sophia ; and  when  at  supper  a youth 
came  into  the  room,  Goethe  involuntarily  exclaimed,  “ What, 
Moses,  too ! ” A very  merry  supper  they  had  ; so  merry  that 
Weyland,  fearing  lest  wine  and  Frederika  should  make  his 
friend  betray  himself,  proposed  a walk  in  the  moonlight. 
Weyland  offered  his  arm  to  Salome,  the  elder  daughter 
(always  named  Olivia  in  the  Autobiography ),  Frederika  took 
Goethe’s  arm.  Youth  and  moonlight,  — need  one  say  more? 
Already  he  began  to  scrutinize  her  tone  in  speaking  of  cousins 
and  neighbors,  jealous  lest  it  should  betray  an  affection.  But 
her  blithe  spirit  was  as  yet  untroubled,  and  he  listened  in  de- 
licious silence  to  her  unembarrassed  loquacity. 

On  retiring  for  the  night  the  friends  had  much  to  talk  over. 
Weyland  assured  him  the  incognito  had  not  been  betrayed  ; 
on  the  contrary,  the  family  had  inquired  after  the  young 
Goethe,  of  whose  joviality  and  eccentricities  they  had  often 
heard.  And  now  came  the  tremulous  question  : was  Fred- 
erika engaged?  No.  That  was  a relief!  Had  she  ever 
been  in  love?  No.  Still  better!  Thus  chatting,  they  sat 
till  deep  in  the  night,  as  friends  chat  on  such  occasions,  with 
hearts  too  full  and  brains  too  heated  for  repose.  At  dawn 
Goethe  was  awake,  impatient  to  see  Frederika  with  the  dew 
of  morning  on  her  cheek.  While  dressing  he  looked  at  his 

* The  entire  song  is  to  be  found  in  the  Sesenheimer  Liederbuchy  and  in 
Viehoff,  Goethe  Erldutert , Vol.  I.  p.  iio. 


HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA. 


Si 


1770.] 

costume  in  disgust,  and  tried  in  vain  to  remedy  it.  His  hair 
could  be  managed ; but  when  his  arms  were  thrust  into  his 
threadbare  coat,  the  sleeves  of  which  were  ludicrously  short, 
he  looked  pitiable  ; Weyland,  peeping  at  him  from  under  the 
coverlet,  giggled.  In  his  despair  he  resolved  to  ride  back  to 
Strasburg,  and  return  in  his  own  costume.  On  the  way  an- 
other plan  suggested  itself.  He  exchanged  clothes  with  the 
son  of  the  landlord  at  the  Drusenheim  inn,  a youth  of  his 
own  size  ; corked  his  eyebrows,  imitated  the  son’s  gait  and 
speech,  and  returned  to  the  parsonage  the  bearer  of  a cake. 
This  second  disguise  also  succeeded,  so  long  as  he  kept  at  a 
distance ; but  Frederika  running  up  to  him  and  saying, 
“ George,  what  do  you  here  ? ” he  was  forced  to  reveal  him- 
self. “ Not  George,  but  one  who  asks  forgiveness.”  “You 
shocking  creature ! ” she  exclaimed,  “ how  you  frightened 
me ! ” The  jest  was  soon  explained  and  forgiven,  not  only 
by  Frederika,  but  by  the  family,  who  laughed  heartily  at  it. 

Gayly  passed  the  day  ; the  two  hourly  falling  deeper  and 
deeper  in  love.  Passion  does  not  chronicle  by  time  : mo- 
ments are  hours,  hours  years,  when  two  hearts  are  rushing 
into  one.  It  matters  little,  therefore,  that  the  Autobiography 
speaks  of  only  two  days  passed  in  this  happy  circle,  whereas 
a letter  of  his  says  distinctly  he  was  there  “ some  days  — 
einige  Tage  ” (less  than  three  cannot  be  understood  by  einige). 
He  was  there  long  enough  to  fall  in  love,  and  to  captivate  the 
whole  family  by  his  gayety,  obligingness,  and  poetic  gifts. 
He  had  given  them  a taste  of  his  quality  as  a romancist,  by 
telling  the  story  of  The  New  Melusina  (subsequently  pub- 
lished in  the  Wanderjahre).  He  had  also  interested  him- 
self in  the  pastor’s  plans  for  the  rebuilding  of  the  parsonage, 
and  proposed  to  take  away  the  sketches  with  him  to  Stras- 
burg. 

The  pain  of  separation  was  lightened  by  the  promise  of 
4*  F 


82 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


speedy  reunion.  He  returned  to  Strasburg  with  new  life  in 
his  heart.  He  had  not  long  before  written  to  a friend  that 
for  the  first  time  he  knew  what  it  was  to  be  happy  without 
his  heart  being  engaged.  Pleasant  people  and  manifold 
studies  left  him  no  time  for  feeling.  “ Enough,  my  present 
l fe  is  like  a sledge  journey,  splendid  and  sounding,  but  with 
just  as  little  for  the  heart  as  it  has  much  for  eyes  and  ears.” 
Another  tone  runs  through  his  letters  now,  to  judge  from  the 
only  one  which  has  been  recovered.*  It  is  addressed  to 
Frederika,  dated  the  15th  October  : — 

“ Dear  new  Friend,  — I dare  to  call  you  so ; for  if  I can 
trust  the  language  of  eyes,  then  did  mine  in  the  first  glance 
read  the  hope  of  this  new  friendship  in  yours ; and  for  our 
hearts  I will  answer.  You,  good  and  gentle  as  I know  you, 
will  you  not  show  some  favor  to  one  who  loves  you  so  ? 

“ Dear,  dear  friend  : — 

“ That  I have  something  to  say  to  you  there  can  be  no 
question  ; but*  it  is  quite  another  matter  whether  I exactly 
know  wherefore  I now  write,  and  what  I may  write.  Thus 
much  i am  conscious  of  by  a certain  inward  unrest,  — that  I 
would  gladly  be  by  your  side  ; and  a scrap  of  paper  is  as 
true  a consolation  and  as  winged  a steed  for  me  here,  in 
noisy  Strasburg,  as  it  can  be  to  you  in  .your  quiet,  if  you  truly 
feel  the  separation  from  your  friend. 

“ The  circumstances  of  our  journey  home  you  can  easily 
imagine,  if  you  marked  my  pain  at  parting,  and  how  I longed 
to  remain  behind.  Weyland’s  thoughts  went  forwards,  mine 
backwards  ; so  you  can  understand  how  our  conversation 
was  neither  interesting  nor  copious. 

* Scholl,  Briefe  und  Aufsatze , p.  51.  The  letters  in  Pfeiffer’s  book 
are  manifest  forgeries. 


770.] 


HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA. 


83 


“ At  the  end  of  the  Wanzenau  we  thought  to  shorten  our 
route,  and  found  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  a morass.  Night 
came  on  ; and  we  only  needed  the  storm  which  threatened  to 
overtake  us,  to  have  had  every  reason  for  being  fully  con- 
vinced of  the  love  and  constancy  of  our  princesses.* 

“ Meanwhile,  the  scroll  which  I held  constantly  in  my 
hand  — fearful  of  losing  it  — was  a talisman,  which  charmed 
away  all  the  perils  of  the  journey.  And  now  ? — 0,1  dare 
not  utter  it,  — either  you  can  guess  it,  or  you  will  not  be- 
lieve it. 

“ At  last  we  arrived,  and  our  first  thought,  which  had  been 
our  joy  on  the  road,  was  the  project  soon  to  see  you  again. 

“ How  delicious  a sensation  is  the  hope  of  seeing  again 
those  we  love ! And  we,  when  our  coddled  heart  is  a little 
sorrowful,  at  once  bring  it  medicine  and  say  : Dear  little 
heart,  be  quiet,  you  will  not  long  be  away  from  her  you  love  ; 
be  quiet,  dear  little  heart ! Meanwhile  we  give  it  a chimera 
to  play  with,  and  then  is  it  good  and  still  as  a child  to  whom 
the  mother  gives  a doll  instead  of  the  apple  which  it  must 
not  eat. 

“ Enough,  we  are  not  here,  and  so  you  see  you  were  wrong. 
You  would  not  believe  that  the  noisy  gayety  of  Strasburg 
would  be  disagreeable  to  me  after  the  sweet  country  pleasures 
enjoyed  with  you.  Never,  Mamsell,  did  Strasburg  seem  so 
empty  to  me  as  now.  I hope,  indeed,  it  will  be  better  when 
the  remembrance  of  those  charming  hours  is  a little  dimmed, 
— when  I no  longer  feel  so  vividly  how  good,  how  amiable 
my  friend  is.  Yet  ought  I to  forget  that,  or  to  wish  it  ? No ; 
I will  rather  retain  a little  sorrow  and  write  to  you  frequently. 

“ And  now,  many,  many  thanks  and  many  sincere  remem- 

* An  allusion  doubtless  intelligible  to  the  person  addressed,  but  I can 
make  nothing  of  it. 


84 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  il 


brances  to  your  dear  parents.  To  your  dear  sister  many 
hundred  ....  what  I would  so  willingly  give  you  again  ! ” 

A few  days  after  his  return,  Herder  underwent  the  opera- 
tion previously  alluded  to.  Goethe  was  constantly  with  him  ; 
but  as  he  carefully  concealed  all  his  mystical  studies,  fearing 
to  have  them  ridiculed,  so  one  may  suppose  he  concealed 
also  the  new  passion  which  deliciously  tormented  him.  In 
silence  he  occupied  himself  with  Frederika,  and  carefully 
sketched  plans  for  the  new  parsonage.  He  sent  her  books, 
and  received  from  her  a letter,  which  of  course  seemed 
priceless. 

In  November  he  was  again  at  Sesenheim.  Night  had 
already  set  in  when  he  arrived  ; his  impatience  would  not 
suffer  him  to  wait  till  morning,  the  more  so  as  the  landlord 
assured  him  the  young  ladies  had  only  just  gone  home,  where 
“ they  expected  some  one.”  He  felt  jealous  of  this  expected 
friend,  and  he  hastened  to  the  parsonage.  Great  was  his  sur- 
prise to  find  them  not  surprised  ; greater  still  to  hear  Fred- 
erika whisper,  “ Did  I not  say  so  ? Here  he  is ! ” Her 
loving  heart  had  prophesied  his  coming,  and  had  named  the 
very  day. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  many  guests  were  expected. 
Early  in  the  morning  Frederika  proposed  a walk  with  him, 
leaving  her  mother  and  sister  to  look  after  domestic  prepara- 
tions. In  that  walk  the  youthful  pair  abandoned  themselves 
without  concealment  to  all  the  delightful  nothings  of  newly 
awakened  love.  They  talked  over  the  expected  pleasures  of 
the  day,  and  arranged  how  t^  be  always  together.  She 
taught  him  several  games  ; he  taught  her  others  ; and  under- 
neath these  innocent  arrangements,  Love  serenely  smiled. 
The  church  bell  called  them  from  their  walk.  To  church  they 
went,  and  listened  — not  very  attentively  — to  the  worthy  pas- 


HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA. 


85 


1771.] 

tor.  Another  kind  of  devotion  made  their  hearts  devout. 
He  meditated  on  her  charming  qualities,  and  as  his  glance 
rested  on  her  ruddy  lips,  he  recalled  the  last  time  woman’s 
lips  had  been  pressed  to  his  own ; recalled  the  curse  which 
the  excited  French  girl  had  uttered,  a curse  which  hitherto 
had  acted  like  a spell. 

This  superstition  not  a little  troubled  him  in  games  of  for- 
feits, where  kisses  always  form  a large  proportion ; and  his 
presence  of  mind  was  often  tried  in  the  attempts  to  evade 
them ; the  more  so  as  many  of  the  guests,  suspecting  the  ten- 
der relation  between  him  and  Frederika,  sportively  took  every 
occasion  to  make  them  kiss.  She,  with  natural  instinct,  aided 
him  in  his  evasions.  The  time  came,  however,  when,  carried 
away  by  the  excitement  of  the  dance  and  games,  he  felt  the 
burning  pressure  of  her  lips  crush  the  superstition  in  a 

“ Kiss,  a long,  long  kiss 
Of  youth  and  beauty  gathered  into  one.” 

He  returned  to  Strasburg,  if  not  a formally  betrothed,  yet 
an  accepted  lover.  As  such  the  family  and  friends  seem  to 
have  regarded  him.  Probably  no  betrothal  took  place,  on 
account  of  his  youth,  and  the  necessity  of  obtaining  his 
father’s  consent.  His  muse,  lately  silent,  now  found  voice 
again,  and  several  of  the  poems  Frederika  inspired  are  to  be 
read  in  his  published  works.* 

He  had  been  sent  to  Strasburg'  to  gain  a doctor’s  degree. 
His  Dissertation  had  been  commenced  just  before  this  Sesen. 
heim  episode.  But  Shakespeare,  Ossian,  Faust , Gotz , and, 
above  all,  Frederika,  scattered  his  plans,  and  he  followed  the 
advice  of  friends,  to  choose,  instead  of  a Dissertation,  a num- 
ber of  Theses,  upon  which  to  hold  a disputation.  His  father 

* The  whole  have  been  reprinted  in  the  Sesenheimer  Liederbuch  ; and 
in  Viehoff’s  Goethe  Erldutert. 


86 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  ii, 


would  not  hear  of  such  a thing,  but  demanded  a regular  Dis- 
sertation. He  chose,  therefore,  this  theme,  “ That  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  law-maker  to  establish  a certain  religious  worship 
binding  upo?i  clergy  and  laity.”  A theme  he  supported  by  his- 
torical and  philosophical  arguments.  The  Dissertation  was 
written  in  Latin,  and  sent  to  his  father,  who  received  it  with 
pleasure.  But  the  dean  of  the  faculty  would  not  receive  it,  — 
either  because  its  contents  were  paradoxical,  or  because  it 
was  not  sufficiently  erudite.  In  lieu  thereof  he  was  permit- 
ted to  choose  Theses  for  disputation.  The  Disputation  was 
held  on  the  6th  of  August,  1771,  his  opponent  being  Franz 
Lerse,  who  pressed  him  hard.  A jovial  Schmaus,  a real  stu- 
dents’ banquet,  crowned  this  promotion  of  Dr.  Goethe.* 

He  could  find  no  time  for  visits  to  Sesenheim  during  this 
active  preparation  for  his  doctorate ; but  he  was  not  entirely 
separated  from  Frederika  : her  mother  had  come  with  both 
daughters  to  Strasburg,  on  a visit  to  a rich  relative.  He  had 
been  for  some  time  acquainted  with  this  family,  and  had  many 
opportunities  of  meeting  his  beloved.  The  girls,  who  came 
in  their  Alsatian  costume,  found  their  cousins  and  friends 
dressed  like  Frenchwomen  ; a contrast  which  greatly  vexed 
Olivia,  who  felt  “ like  a maid-servant  ” among  these  fashion- 
able friends.  Her  restless  manners  evidently  made  Goethe 
somewhat  ashamed  of  her.  Frederika,  on  the  other  hand, 
though  equally  out  of  her  element  in  this  society,  was  more 
self-possessed,  and  perfectly  contented  so  long  as  he  was  by 
her  side.  There  is  in  the  Autobiography  a significant  phrase  : 
this  visit  of  the  family  is  called  a “peculiar  test  of  his  love.” 
And  test  it  was,  as  every  one  must  see  who  considers  the  rela- 
tions in  which  the  lovers  stood.  He  was  the  son  of  an  im- 

* There  is  some  obscurity  on  this  point.  From  a letter  to  Salzmann, 
it  seems  he  only  got  a licentiate  degree  at  this  time.  The  doctorate  he 
certainly  had  ; but  when  his  diploma  was  prepared  is  not  known. 


HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA. 


37 


1771] 

portant  Frankfurt  citizen,  and  held  almost  the  position  of  a 
nobleman  in  relation  to  the  poor  pastor’s  daughter.  Indeed, 
the  social  disparity  was  so  great,  that  many  explain  his  not 
marrying  Frederika  on  the  ground  of  such  a match  being 
impossible,  — “ his  father,”  it  is  said,  “ would  not  have  lis- 
tened to  such  a thing  for  a moment.”  Love  in  nowise  troubles 
itself  about  station,  never  asks,  “ What  will  the  world  say  ? ” 
but  there  is  quite  a different  solicitude  felt  by  Love  when  ap- 
proaching Marriage.  In  the  first  eagerness  of  passion  a 
prince  may  blindly  pursue  a peasant,  but  when  his  love  is 
gratified  by  return,  when  reflection  reasserts  its  duties,  then 
the  prince  will  consider  what  will  be  the  estimation  of  his 
mistress  in  other  minds.  Men  are  very  sensitive  to  the  opin- 
ions of  others  on  their  mistresses  and  wives,  and  Goethe’s 
love  must  indeed  have  been  put  to  the  test,  on  seeing  Fred- 
erika and  her  sister  thus  in  glaring  contrast  with  the  society  in 
which  he  moved.  In  the  groves  of  Sesenheim  she  was  a 
wood-nymph,  but  in  Strasburg  salons  ihe  wood-nymph  seemed 
a peasant.  Who  is  there  that  has  not  experienced  a similar 
destruction  of  illusion,  in  seeing  an  admired  person  lose  al- 
most all  charm  in  the  change  of  environment  ? 

Frederika  laid  her  sweet  commands  on  him  one  evening, 
and  bade  him  entertain  the  company  by  reading  Hamlet  aloud. 
He  did  so,  to  the  great  enjoyment  of  all,  especially  Frederika, 
“who  from  time  to  time  sighed  deeply,  and  a -passing  color 
tinged  her  cheeks.”  Was  she  thinking  of  poor  Ophelia,  — 
placing  herself  in  that  forlorn  position  ? 

“ For  Hamlet  and  the  trifling  of  his  favor, 

Hold  it  a fashion  and  a toy  in  blood ! ” 

She  may  have  had  some  presentiment  of  her  fate.  The  ap- 
plause, however,  which  her  lover  gained  was  proudly  accepted 
by  her,  “ and  in  her  graceful  manner  she  did  not  deny  herself 
the  little  pride  of  having  shone  through  him.” 


88 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


The  mention  of  Hamlet  leads  us  naturally  into  the  society 
where  he  sought  oblivion,  when  Frederika  quitted  Strasburg. 
Her  departure,  he  confesses,  was  a relief  to  him.  She  her- 
self felt  on  leaving  that  the  end  of  their  romance  was  ap- 
proaching. He  plunged  into  gayety  to  drown  tormenting 
thoughts.  “ If  you  could  but  see  me,”  he  wrote  to  Salzmann, 
after  describing  a dance  which  had  made  him  forget  his  fever  : 
“ my  whole  being  was  sunk  in  dancing.  And  yet  could  I but 
say,  I am  happy;  that  would  be  better  than  all.  ‘Who  is’t 
can  say  I am  at  the  worst  ? ’ says  Edgar  (in  Lear).  That  is 
some  comfort,  dear  friend.  My  heart  is  like  a weathercock 
when  a storm  is  rising,  and  the  gusts  are  changeable.”  Some 
days  later  he  wrote  : “ All  is  not  clear  in  my  soul.  I am  too 
curiously  awake  not  to  feel  that  I grasp  at  shadows.  And 
yet ....  To-morrow  at  seven  my  horse  is  saddled,  and  then 
adieu ! ” 

Besides  striving  to  drown  in  gayety  these  tormenting 
thoughts,  he  also  strove  to  divert  them  into  channels  of 
nobler  activity;  stimulated  thereto  by  the  Shakespearian 
fanaticism  of  his  new  friend  Lenz. 

Reinhold  Lenz,  irrevocably  forgotten  as  a poet,  whom  a 
vain  effort  on  the  part  of  Gruppe  has  tried  to  bring  once  more 
into  public  favor,*  is  not  without  interest  to  the  student  of 
German  literature  during  the  Sturm  und  Drang  period.  He 
came  to  Strasburg  in  1770,  accompanying  two  young  noble- 
men as  their  tutor,  and  mingling  with  them  in  the  best  society 
of  the  place;  and,  by  means  of  Salzmann,  was  introduced  to 
the  Club.  Although  he  had  begun  by  translating  Pope’s 
Essay  on  Criticism , he  was,  in  the  strictest  sense  of  the  word, 
one  of  the  Shakespeare  bigots,  who  held  to  the  severest  ortho- 
doxy on  Shakespeare  as  a first  article  of  their  creed,  and  who 
not  only  maintained  the  Shakespeare  clowns  to  be  incom- 
* Gruppe,  Reinhold  Lenz , Leben  und  Werke,  1861. 


I771-] 


HERDER  AND  FRED  ERIKA. 


parable,  but  strove  to  imitate  them  in  their  language.  Many 
an  extravagant  jest  and  many  an  earnest  discussion  served  to 
vary  the  hours.  It  is  not  easy  for  us  to  imagine  the  effect 
which  the  revelation  of  such  a mind  as  Shakespeare’s  must 
have  produced  on  the  young  Germans.  His  profundity  of 
thought,  originality  and  audacity  of  language,  his  beauty, 
pathos,  sublimity,  his  wit  and  overflowing  humor,  and  the 
accuracy  of  his  observation  as  well  as  depth  of  insight  into 
the  mysteries  of  passion  and  character,  were  qualities  which 
no  false  criticism,  and,  above  all,  no  national  taste,  prevented 
Germans  from  appreciating.  It  was  very  different  in  France. 
There  an  established  form  of  art,  with  which  national  pride 
was  identified,  and  an  established  set  of  critical  rules,  upon 
which  Taste  securely  rested,  necessarily  made  Shakespeare 
appear  like  a Cyclops  of  Genius,  — a monster,  though  of 
superhuman  proportions.  Frenchmen  could  not  help  being 
shocked  at  many  things  in  Shakespeare ; yet  even  those  who 
were  most  outraged,  were  also  most  amazed  at  the  pearls  to 
be  found  upon  the  dunghill.  In  Germany  the  pearls  alone 
were  seen.  French  taste  had  been  pitilessly  ridiculed  by 
Lessing.  The  French  Tragedy  had  been  contrasted  with 
Shakespeare,  and  pronounced  unworthy  of  comparison.  To 
the  Germans,  therefore,  Shakespeare  was  a standard  borne  by 
all  who  combated  against  France,  and  his  greatness  was 
recognized  with  something  of  wilful  preference.  The  state 
of  German  literature  also  rendered  his  influence  the  more 
prodigious.  Had  Shakespeare  been  first  revealed  to  its  when 
Mr.  Hayley  was  the  great  laureate  of  the  age,  we  should  have 
felt  something  of  the  eagerness  with  which  the  young  and 
ardent  minds  of  Germany  received  this  greatest  poet  of  all 
ages. 

Three  forms  rise  up  from  out  the  many  influences  of  Stras- 
burg  into  distinct  and  memorable  importance,  — Frederika,  — 


90 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  ii. 


Herder,  the  Cathedral.  A charming  woman,  a noble  thinker, 
and  a splendid  monument,  were  his  guides  into  the  regions 
of  Passion,  Poetry,  and  Art.  The  influence  of  the  cathedral 
was  great  enough  to  make  him  write  the  little  tractate  on 
German  architecture,  D . M.  Erwini  a Steinbach  ; the  enthu- 
siasm of  which  was  so  incomprehensible  to  him  in  after 
years,  that  he  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  reprint  the 
tractate  among  his  works.  Do  we  not  see  here  — as  in  so 
many  other  traits  — how  different  the  youth  is  from  the  child 
and  man  ? 

Inasmuch  as  in  England  many  professed  admirers  of 
architecture  appear  imperfectly  acquainted  with  the  revival 
of  the  taste  for  Gothic  art,  it  may  not  be  superfluous  to  call 
attention  to  the  fact  that  Goethe  was  among  the  very  first  to 
recognize  the  peculiar  beauty  of  that  style,  at  a period  when 
classical,  or  pseudo-classical  taste  was  everywhere  dominant. 
It  appears  that  he  was  in  friendly  correspondence  with  Sulpiz 
Boisseree,  the  artist  who  made  the  restored  design  of  the 
Cologne  Cathedral ; from  whom  he  doubtless  learned  much. 
And  we  see  by  the  Wahlverwandtschaften  that  he  had  a port- 
folio of  designs  illustrative  of  the  principle  of  the  pointed 
style.  This  was  in  1809,  when  scarcely  any  one  thought  of 
the  Gothic ; long  before  Victor  Hugo  had  written  his  Notre 
Dame  de  Paris  ; long  before  Pugin  and  Ruskin  had  thrown 
their  impassioned  energy  into  this  revival ; at  a time  when 
the  church  in  Langham  Place  was  thought  beautiful,  and  the 
Temple  Church  was  considered  an  eyesore.  • 

And  now  he  was  to  leave  Strasburg,  — to  leave  Frederika. 
Much  as  her  presence  had  troubled  him  of  late,  in  her  ab- 
sence he  only  thought  of  her  fascinations.  He  had  not 
ceased  to  love  her,  though  he  already  felt  she  never  would  be 
his.  He  went  to  say  adieu.  “ Those  were  painful  days,  of 
which  I remember  nothing.  When  I held  out  my  hand  to 


HERDER  AND  FREDERIKA. 


91 


1771.] 

her  from  my  horse,  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and  I felt  sad 
at  heart.  As  I rode  along  the  footpath  to  Drusenheim  a 
strange  fantasy  took  hold  of  me.  I saw  in  my  mind’s  eye 
my  own  figure  riding  towards  me,  attired  in  a dress  I had 
never  worn,  — pike-gray  with  gold  lace.  I shook  off  this 
fantasy,  but  eight  years  afterwards  I found  myself  on  the  very 
road,  going  to  visit  Frederika,  and  that  too  in  the  very  dress 
which  I had  seen  myself  in,  in  this  phantasm,  although  my 
wearing  it  was  quite  accidental.”  The  reader  will  probably 
be  somewhat  sceptical  respecting  the  dress,  and  will  suppose 
that  this  prophetic  detail  was  afterwards  transferred  to  the 
vision  by  the  imagination  of  later  years.* 

* The  correspondence  with  the  Frau  von  Stein  contains  a letter  writ- 
ten by  him  a day  or  two  after  this  visit,  but,  singularly  enough,  no  men- 
tion of  this  coincidence. 


BOOK  THE  THIRD. 


1771  TO  1775. 

tf*  : 


CHAPTER  I. 
dr.  goethe’s  return. 

On  the  25th  or  28th  of  August,  1771,  he  quitted  Strasv 
burg.  His  way  led  through  Mannheim ; and  there  he  was 
first  thrilled  by  the  beauty  of  ancient  masterpieces,  some  of 
which  he  saw  in  plaster-cast.  Whatever  might  be  his  predi- 
lection for  Gothic  Art,  he  could  not  view  these  casts  without 
feeling  himself  in  presence  of  an  Art  in  its  way  also  divine ; 
and  his  previous  study  of  Lessing  lent  a peculiar  interest  to 
the  Laokoon  group,  now  before  his  eyes. 

Passing  on  to  Mainz  he  fell  in  with  a young  wandering 
harpist,  and  invited  the  ragged  minstrel  to  Frankfurt,  prom- 
ising him  a lodging  in  his  father’s  house.  It  was  lucky  that 
he  thought  of  acquainting  his  mother  with  this  invitation. 
Alarmed  at  its  imprudence,  she  secured  a lodging  in  the 
town,  and  so  the  boy  wanted  neither  shelter  nor  patronage. 

Rath  Goethe  was  not  a little  proud  of  the  young  Doctor. 
He  was  also  not  a little  disturbed  by  the  young  Doctor’s  man- 
ners ; and  often  shook  his  ancient  respectable  head  at  opin- 
ions which  exploded  like  bombshells  in  the  midst  of  quiet 
circles.  Doctoral  gravity  was  but  slightly  attended  to  by  this 
young  hero  of  the  Sturm  und  Drang.  The  revolutionary 
movement  known  by  the  title  of  the  Storm  and  Stress  was 
then  about  to  astonish  Germany,  and  to  startle  all  con- 
ventions, by  works  such  as  Gerstenberg’s  Ugolino , Goethe’s 


DR.  GOETHE'S  RETURN. 


93 


1771.] 

Gdtz  von  Berlichingen , and  Klinger’s  Sturm  und  Drang  (from 
whence  the  name).  The  wisdom  and  extravagance  of  that 
age  united  in  one  stream  : the  masterly  criticisms  of  Lessings 
— the  enthusiasm  for  Shakespeare,  — the  mania  for  Ossian  and 
the  northern  mythology,  — the  revival  of  ballad  literature,  — 
and  imitations  of  Rousseau,  — all  worked  in  one  rebellious 
current  against  established  authority.  There  was  one  uni- 
versal shout  for  Nature.  With  the  young,  Nature  seemed  to 
be  a compound  of  volcanoes  and  moonlight ; her  force  ex- 
plosion, her  beauty  sentiment.  To  be  insurgent  and  senti- 
mental, explosive  and  lachrymose,  were  the  true  signs  of 
genius.  Everything  established  was  humdrum.  Genius,  abhor- 
rent of  humdrum,  would  neither  spell  correctly,  nor  write  cor- 
rectly, nor  demean  itself  correctly.  It  would  be  Germany  — 
lawless,  rude,  and  natural.  Lawless  it  was,  and  rude  it  was,  — 
but  natural?  Not  according  to  Nature  of  any  reputable  type. 

It  is  not  easy,  in  the  pages  of  the  Autobiography , to  detect 
in  Goethe  an  early  leader  of  the  Sturm  tmd  Drang ; but  it 
is  easy  enough  to  detect  this  in  other  sources.  Here  is  a 
glimpse,  in  a letter  from  Mayer  of  Lindau  (one  of  the  Stras- 
burg  set)  to  Salzmann,  worth  chapters  of  the  Autobiography 
on  such  a point.  “ O Corydon,  Corydon , qua.  te  dementia 
cepit ! According  to  the  chain  in  which  our  ideas  are  linked 
together,  Corydon  and  dementia  put  me  in  mind  of  the  ex- 
travagant Goethe.  He  is  still  at  Frankfurt,  is  he  not  ? ” 

That  such  a youth,  whose  wildness  made  friends  nickname 
him  the  “bear”  and  the  “wolf,”  could  have  been  wholly 
pleasing  to  his  steady,  formal  father,  is  not  to  be  expected. 
Yet  the  worthy  sire  was  not  a little  proud  of  his  son’s  attain- 
ments. The  verses,  essays,  notes',  and  drawings  which  had 
accumulated  during  the  residence  in  Strasburg  were  very 
gratifying  to  him.  He  began  to  arrange  them  with  scrupu- 
lous neatness,  hoping  to  see  them  shortly  published.  But  the 


94 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [bookiii. 


poet  had  a virtue,  perhaps  of  all  virtues  the  rarest  in  youthful 
writers,  — a reluctance  to  appear  in  print.  Seeing,  as  we 
daily  see,  the  feverish  alacrity  with  which  men  accede  to 
that  extremely  imaginary  constraint,  the  “ request  of  friends,” 
and  dauntlessly  rush  into  print,  — seeing  the  obstinacy  with 
which  they  cling  to  all  they  have  written,  and  insist  on  what 
they  have  written  being  printed,  — Goethe’s  reluctance  de- 
mands an  explanation.  And,  if  I may  interpret  according 
tdmy  own  experience,  the  explanation  is,  that  his  delight  in 
composition  was  rather  the  pure  delight  of  intellectual  ac- 
tivity, than  a delight  in  the  result  : delight,  not  in  the  work , 
but  in  the  working.  Thus,  no  sooner  had  he  finished  a poem 
than  his  interest  in  it  began  to  fade  ; and  he  passed  on  to 
another.  Thus  it  was  that  he  left  so  many  works  fragments, 
his  interest  having  been  exhausted  before  the  whole  was 
completed. 

He  had  a small  circle  of  literary  friends  to  whom  he  com- 
municated his  productions,  and  this  was  publication  enough 
for  him.  We  shall  see  him  hereafter,  in  Weimar,  writing 
solely  for  a circle  of  friends,  and  troubling  himself  scarcely 
at  all  about  a public.  It  was  necessary  for  him  to  occupy 
himself  with  some  work  which  should  absorb  him,  as  Gotz 
did  at  this  time,  for  only  in  work  could  he  forget  the  pain,  al- 
most remorse,  which  followed  his  renunciation  of  Frederika. 
If  at  Strasburg  he  had  felt  that  an  end  was  approaching  to 
this  sweet  romance,  at  Frankfurt,  among  family  connections, 
and  with  new  prospects  widening  before  him,  he  felt  it  still 
more.  He  wrote  to  her.  Unhappily  that  letter  is  not  pre- 
served. It  would  have  made  clear  much  that  is  now  con- 
jectural. “ Frederika’s  answer,”  he  says,  “ to  the  letter  in 
which  I had  bidden  her  adieu,  tore  my  heart.  I now,  for  the 
first  time,  became  aware  of  her  bereavement,  and  saw  no 
possibility  of  alleviating  it.  She  was  ever  in  my  thoughts ; 


DR.  GOETHE'S  RETURN. 


95 


1771.] 

I felt  that  she  was  wanting  to  me  ; and,  worst  of  all,  I x:ould 
not  forgive  myself ! Gretchen  had  been  taken  from  me  ; 
Annchen  had  left  me  ; but  now,  for  the  first  time,  I was 
guilty ; I had  wounded,  to  its  very  depths,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  tender  of  hearts.  And  that  period  of  gloomy 
repentance,  bereft  of  the  love  which  had  so  invigorated  me, 
was  agonizing,  insupportable.  But  man  will  live ; and  hence 
I took  a sincere  interest  in  others,  seeking  to  disentangle 
their  embarrassments,  and  to  unite  those  about  to  part,  that 
they  might  not  feel  what  I felt.  Hence  I got  the  name  of 
the  ‘ Confidant,’  and  also,  on  account  of  my  wanderings,  I 
was  named  the  ‘Wanderer.’  Under  the  broad  open  sky,  on 
the  heights  or  in  the  valleys,  in  the  fields  and  through  the 
woods,  my  mind  regained  some  of  its  calmness.  I almost 
lived  on  the  road,  wandering  between  the  mountains  and  the 
plains.  Often  I went,  alone  or  in  company,  right  through  my 
native  city  as  though  I were  a stranger  in  it,  dining  at  one  of 
the  great  inns  in  the  High  Street,  and  after  dinner  pursuing 
my  way.  I turned  more  than  ever  to  the  open  world  and  to 
Nature ; there  alone  I found  comfort.  During  my  walks  I 
sang  to  myself  strange  hymns  and  dithyrambs.  One  of 
these,  the  Wanderer's  Sj&irmlied , still  remains.  I remember 
singing  it  aloud  in  an  impassioned  style  amid  a terrific  storm. 
The  burden  of  this  rhapsody  is  that  a man  of  genius  must 
walk  resolutely  through  the  storms  of  life,  relying  solely  on 
himself”  ; a burden  which  seems  to  give  expression  to  what 
he  then  felt  respecting  his  relation  to  Frederika. 

Although  we  have  no  exact  knowledge  of  the  circum- 
stances, from  the  height  of  which  to  judge  his  conduct,  the 
question  must  be  put,  Why  did  he  not  marry  Frederika  ? It 
is  a question  often  raised,  and  as  often  sophistically  answered. 
By  one  party  he  is  angrily  condemned  ; disingenuously  ab- 
solved by  another.  But  he  himself  acknowledged  his  fault. 


9 6 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE  yS  LIFE . [book  hi. 


He  himself  never  put  forth  any  excuse.  He  does  not  hint 
at  disparity  of  station,  he  does  not  say  there  were  objections 
from  his  parents.  He  makes  no  excuse,  but  confesses  the 
wrong,  and  blames  himself  without  sophistication.  Yet  the 
excuses  he  would  not  suggest,  partisans  have  been  eager  to 
suggest  for  him.  Some  have  sought  far  and  wide  in  the 
gutters  of  scandal  for  materials  of  defence.  One  gets  up  a 
story  about  Frederika  being  seduced  by  a Catholic  priest ; 
whence  it  is  argued  that  Goethe  could  not  be  expected  to 
marry  one  so  frail ; whence  also  it  follows,  by  way  of  counter- 
blast, that  it  was  his  desertion  which  caused  her  fall.*  The 
basis  of  fact  on  which  this  lie  is  reared  (there  is  usually  some 
basis,  even  for  the  wildest  lies),  is  that  Frederika  brought  up 
the  orphan  child  of  her  sister  Salome. 

Let  me  endeavor,  without  sophistication,  to  state  the  case, 
at  least  as  far  as  the  imperfect . evidence  admits  of  a judg- 
ment. It  seems  to  have  been  forgotten  by  most  writers  who 
have  discussed  this  topic,  that  our  judgment  is  misled  by 
the  artistic  charm  which  Goethe  has  thrown  over  the  narra- 
tive : we  fail  to  separate  the  Fact  from  the  Fiction  ; we  read 
the  poem  he  has  made  up  from  his  early  experience,  and  read 
it  as  if  the  poem  were  an  unvarnished  record  of  that  experi- 
ence. He  has  painted  Frederika  so  charmingly ; he  has  told 
the  story  of  their  simple  youthful  love  with  so  much  grace, 
and  quiet  emotion  ; he  has  made  us  believe  so  entirely  in  the 
Idyl,  that  our  sympathies  are  rudely  disturbed  when  we  find 
the  Idyl  is  not  to  end  in  a marriage. 

But  if  we  consider  the  case  calmly,  divesting  it,  as  much  as 
possible,  of  the  illusive  suggestions  of  romance,  we  may, 
perhaps,  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  it  was,  after  all,  only  a 
“ love  affair  ” between  a boy  and  a girl,  a temporary  fascina- 

* Strangely  enough,  although  Goethe  read  the  MS.  in  which  Nake  re- 
peats  this  story,  he  takes  no  notice  of  it. 


DR.  GOETHE'S  RETURN. 


97 


1771.] 

tion,  such  as  often  stirs  the  affections  of  youth,  without  deep- 
ening into  serious  thought  of  marriage.  Doubtless  the  reader 
can  from  his  or  her  own  history  rapidly  recall  such  an  experi- 
ence ; certainly  the  experience  of  their  friends  will  supply 
such  cases.  If  we  read  the  story  in  this  light  all  is  clear. 
The  boy  and  girl  are  fascinated  by  each  other  ; they  look 
into  each  other’s  eyes,  and  are  happy  ; they  walk  together, 
talk  together,  and,  when  separated,  think  of  each  other.  But 
they  never  think  of  marriage  ; or  think  of  it  vaguely  as  a re- 
mote contingency.  Young  love’s  dream  is  enough  for  them. 
They  are  pained  at  parting  ; perhaps  all  the  more  so,  because 
they  dimly  feel  that  the  awakening  is  at  hand.  But  there  is 
a sort  of  tacit  understanding  that  marriage  is  not  the  issue  to 
be  looked  for.  Had  any  one  hinted  to  either  Goethe  or 
Frederika  that  their  passion  was  but  a “youthful  stirring  of 
the  blood,”  and  not  an  eternal  union  of  souls,  they  would 
assuredly  have  resented  it  with  emphatic  denial.  Yet  so  it 
was.  Goethe  soon  consoled  himself;  and  there  is  positive 
evidence  that  Frederika,  shortly  afterwards,  allowed  herself  to 
be  consoled  by  Lenz. 

Such,  after  mature  deliberation,  I believe  to  have  been  the 
real  story.  When  in  old  age  Goethe,  reviewing  the  pleasant 
dreams  of  youth,  and  weaving  them  into  an  artistic  narrative, 
avowedly  half  fiction,  came  to  that  episode  with  Frederika, 
he  thought  of  it  as  we  all  think  of  our  early  loves,  with  a 
mingled  tenderness  and  pain  ; his  imagination  was  kindled, 
and  he  turned  his  experience  into  a poem.  But  the  fact  thus 
idealized  was  a very  ordinary  fact ; the  story  thus  poetized  ( 

!was  a very  common  story,  and  could  be  told  by  ninety  out  of  | 
every  hundred  students,  who  do  not  marry  the  idol  of  the 
last  university  term.^  That  Goethe,  with  his  affectionate, 
sensitive  nature,  was  for  a time  in  love  with  Frederika,  is 
possible.  It  is  certain  that  whatever  the  agitation  of  his 


98 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iii. 


feelings,  they  were  not  deeply  moved ; she  had  laid  no  firm 
hold  of  his  soul ; there  were  none  of  those  ties  between 
them  which  grow  stronger  with  advancing  time. 

No  sooner  had  he  made  this  decisively  clear  to  himself, 
than  he  wrote  to  Frederika  to  tell  her  so.  No  woman  can  be 
given  up  without  feeling  pain,  and  probably  Frederika’s  affec- 
tions were  far  more  deeply  engaged  than  his  were ; never- 
theless, in  spite  of  the  pain  she  doubtless  felt,  and  patheti- 
cally expressed  in  her  letter  to  him,  we  find  her  presently 
engaged  in  another  “ love  affair,1 ” with  the  poet  Lenz,  which, 
though  it  ended  in  a breach,  certainly  went  so  far  as  the 
exchange  of  vows  ; and,  according  to  Lenz,  the  growth  of 
the  passion  was  rapid.  “ It  was  with  us  both,”  he  writes  to 
his  friend,  “ as  with  Caesar  : venit  vidi , vici.  Through  uncon- 
scious causes  grew  our  confidence,  — and  now  it  is  sworn, 
and  indissoluble.”  When,  in  after  years,  Goethe  visited 
Frederika,  she  — having  long  given  up  Lenz,  whose  mad- 
ness must  have  made  her  rejoice  in  her  escape  — told  him 
of  Lenz  having  pretended  to  be  in  love  with  her,  but  omitted 
to  say  anything  about  her  own  reciprocity  ; and  she  omitted 
this  from  motives  which  every  woman  will  appreciate.  But 
however  obscure  the  story  may  be,  it  seems  certain  that  at 
least  for  a short  time  she  believed  in  and  returned  Lenz’s 
passion.^ 

After  this  exposition  of  what  I conceive  to  be  the  real 
case,  it  will  be  easy  to  answer  the  outcry  of  the  sentimental- 
ists against  Goethe’s  “ faithlessness  ” and  his  “ cruel  treat- 
ment of  Frederika,”  without  recurring  to  the  excuses  some- 
times put  forth,  that  to  have  been  faithful  to  her  he  must  have 
been  faithless  to  his  genius ; and  that  it  was  better  one 
woman’s  heart  should  be  broken  (which  it  was  not ) than  that 

* For  full  details  see  Gruppe,  Reinhold  Lenz , Leben  und  Werke,. 
•1861,  pp  ii,  seq. 


DR.  GOETHE'S  RETURN. 


99 


1771.] 

the  poet’s  experience  should  be  narrowed  within  the  small 
circle  of  domestic  life.  It  is  a mistake  to  speak  of  faithless- 
ness at  all.  We  may  regret  that  he  did  not  feel  the  serious 
affection  which  would  have  claimed  her  as  a wife  ; we  may 
upbraid  him  for  the  thoughtlessness  with  which  he  encour- 
aged the  sentimental  relation ; but  he  was  perfectly  right  to 
draw  back  from  an  engagement  which  he  felt  his  love  was  not 
strong  enough  properly  to  fulfil.  It  seems  to  me  that  he 
acted  a more  moral  part  in  relinquishing  her,  than  if  he  had 
swamped  this  lesser  in  a greater  wrong,  and  escaped  one 
breach  of  faith  by  a still  greater  breach  of  faith,  — a reluctant, 
because  unloving,  marriage.  The  thoughtlessness  of  youth, 
and  the  headlong  impetus  of  passion,  frequently  throw  people 
into  rash  engagements  ; and  in  these  cases  the  formal  moral- 
ity of  the  world,  more  careful  of  externals  than  of  truth, 
declares  it  to  be  nobler  for  such  rash  engagements  to  be  kept, 
even  when  the  rashness  is  felt  by  the  engaged,  than  that  a 
man’s  honor  should  be  stained  by  a withdrawal.  The  letter 
thus  takes  precedence  of  the  spirit.  To  satisfy  this  prejudice 
a life  is  sacrificed.  A miserable  marriage  rescues  the  honor ; 
and  no  one  throws  the  burden  of  that  misery  upon  the  preju- 
dice. I am  not  forgetting  the  necessity  of  being  stringent 
against  the  common  thoughtlessness  of  youth  in  forming  such 
relations ; but  I say  that  this  thoughtlessness  once  having 
occurred,  reprobate  it  as  we  may,  the  pain  which  a separation 
may  bring  had  better  be  endured,  than  evaded  by  an  unholy 
marriage,  which  cannot  come  to  good. 

Frederika  herself  must  have  felt  so  too,  for  never  did  a 
word  of  blame  escape  her  ; and  we  shall  see  how  affection- 
ately she  welcomed  him,  when  they  met  after  the  lapse  of 
years.  This,  however,  does  not  absolve  him  from  the  blame 
of  having  thoughtlessly  incurred  the  responsibility  of  her 
affection.  That  blame  he  must  bear.  The  reader  will  appor- 


IOO 


• THE  STORY  OF  GOE THE yS  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


tion  it  according  as  he  estimates»the  excuses  of  temperament, 
and  the  common  thoughtlessness  of  youth  in  such  matters. 

Although  I think  Goethe’s  conduct  in  this  matter  perfectly 
upright,  and  justifiable  from  a far  more  serious  point  of  view 
than  that  of  being  faithful  to  his  genius,  I am  not  at  all  dis- 
posed to  acquiesce  in  the  assumption  that  marriage  with 
Frederika  would  have  crippled  his  genius  by  narrowing  his 
sympathies.  The  cause  of  his  relinquishing  her  was  the  want 
of  a sufficiently  powerful  love ; and  that  also  is  his  j ustifica- 
tion.  Had  he  loved  her  enough  to  share  a li^fc  with  her,  his 
experience  of  woman  might  have  been  less  extensive,  but  it 
would  assuredly  have  gained  an  element  it  wanted.  It  would 
have  been  deepened.  He  had  experienced,  and  he  could 
paint  (no  one  better)  the  exquisite  devotion  of  woman  to 
man  ; but  he  had  scarcely  ever  felt  the  peculiar  tenderness 
of  man  for  woman,  when  that  tenderness  takes  the  form  of 
vigilant  protecting  fondness.  He  knew  little,  and  that  not 
until  late  in  life,  of  the  subtile  interweaving  of  habit  with 
affection,  which  makes  life  saturated  with  love,  and  love 
itself  become  dignified  through  the  serious  aims  of  life.  He 
knew  little  of  the  exquisite  companionship  of  two  souls  striv- 
ing in  emulous  spirit  of  loving  rivalry  to  become  better,  to 
become  wiser,  teaching  each  other  to  soar.  He  knew  little 
of  this  ; and  the  kiss  he  feared  to  press  upon  the  loving  lips 
of  Frederika,  and  the  life  of  sympathy  he  refused  to  share 
with  her,  are  wanting  to  the  greatness  of  his  works. 

In  such  a mood  as  that  which  followed  the  rupture  with 
Frederika,  it  is  not  wonderful  if  Frankfurt  and  the  practice 
of  law  were  odious  to  him.  Nothing  but  hard  work  could  do 
him  good  : and  he  worked  hard.  From  the  Herder  Corre- 
spondence it  appears  that  he  read  Greek  writers  with  some 
eagerness,  his  letters  being  studded  with  citations  fron  Plato, 
Homer  and  Pindar.  Die  Gricchen  sind  mein  einzig  Studium , 


DR  GOETHE'S  RETURN. 


IOI 


1771.] 

he  says.  We  find  him  also  working  at  Gotz  von  Berlichingen. 
Gothic  Art,  a kindred  subject,  occupies  him,  and  from  thence, 
by  an  easy  transition,  he  passes  to  the  Bible,  to  study  it  anew. 
The  results  of  this  study  are  seen  in  two  little  tractates  pub- 
lished in  1773,  one  called  Brief  des  Pastor's  zu***  an  den 
?ieuen  Pastor  zu  ***  ; the  other,  Zwo  wichtige  bisher  unerortete 
biblische  Fragen , zum  erstenmal  griindlich  beantwortet  von  einem 
Landgeistlicheji  in  Schwaben.  The  influence  of  Fraulein  von 
Klettenberg  is  traceable  in  the  religious  sentiment  of  these 
works  ; while  his  own  affectionate  nature  speaks  in  the  toler- 
ance preached.  Of  the  two  Biblical  questions,  one  goes  to 
prove  that  it  was  not  the  ten  commandments  which  stood  on 
the  tables  of  Moses,  but  ten  laws  of  the  Israelitish- Jehovah 
covenant.  The  second  is  an  answer,  by  no  means  clear,  to 
the  question  : “ What  is  it  to  speak  with  tongues  ? ” which  he 
explains  as  a “ speech  of  the  Spirit,  more  than  pantomime, 
and  yet  inarticulate.” 

The  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen  was  a point  of  reunion, 
bringing  Goethe  into  relation  with  many  persons  of  lability. 
It  also  afforded  him  an  opportunity  of  exercising  himself  in 
criticism.  Thirty-five  of  the  articles  he  wrote  for  this  jour- 
nal have  been  collected  into  his  works,  where  the  curious 
student  will  seek  them.  In  these  studies  the  time  flew 
swiftly.  He  had  recommenced  horse  and  sword  exercise,  and 
Klopstock  having  made  skating  illustrious,  it  soon  became  an 
amusement  of  which  he  was  never  tired  ; all  day  long  and 
deep  into  the  night  he  was  to  be  seen  wheeling  along ; and 
as  the  full  moon  rose  above  the  clouds  over  the  wide  noc- 
turnal fields  of  ice,  and  the  night  wind  rushed  at  his  face, 
and  the  echo  of  his  movements  came  with  ghostly  sound 
upon  his  ear,  he  seemed  to  be  in  Ossian’s  world.  Indoors 
there  were  studies  and  music.  “ Will  you  ask  my  violoncello- 
master,”  he  writes  to  Salzmann,  “ if  he  still  has  the  sonatas 


102 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  iii. 


for  two  basses,  which  I played  with  him,  and  if  so,  send  them 
to  me  as  quickly  as  convenient?  I practise  this  art  some- 
what more  earnestly  than  before.  As  to  my  other  occupa- 
tions, you  will  have  gathered  from  my  drama  ( Gotz ) that  the 
purposes  of  my  soul  are  becoming  more  earnest.” 

It  has  before  been  hinted  that  Stiirjn  tend,  Drang , as  it 
manifested  itself  in  the  mind  and  bearing  of  the  young  doctor, 
was  but  very  moderately  agreeable  to  the  old  Rath  Goethe  ; 
and  whatever  sympathy  we  may  feel  with  the  poet,  yet,  as  we 
are  all  parents,  or  hope  to  be,  let  us  not  permit  our  sympathy 
to  become  injustice ; let  us  admit  that  the  old  Rath  had  con- 
siderable cause  for  parental  uneasiness,  and  let  us  follow  the 
son  to  Wetzlar  without  flinging  any  hard  words  at  his  father. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WETZLAR. 

In  the  spring  of  1772  he  arrived  at  Wetzlar  with  Gotz  in 
his  portfolio,  and  in  his  head  many  wild,  unruly  thoughts. 
In  Wetzlar  there  were  two  buildings  interesting  above  all 
others  to  us,  — the  Imperial  Court  of  Justice,  and  Das 
Teutsche  Hans.  The  Imperial  Court  was  a Court  of  Appeal  for 
the  whole  empire,  a sort  of  German  Chancery.  In  no  coun- 
try does  Chancery  move  with  railway  speed,  and  in  Germany 
even  the  railways  are  slow.  Such  a chaotic  accumulation  of 
business  as  this  Wetzlar  Kammergericht  presented,  was  per- 
haps never  seen  before.  Twenty  thousand  cases  lay  unde- 
cided on  Goethe’s  arrival,  and  there  were  but  seventeen  law- 
yers to  dispose  of  them.  About  sixty  was  the  utmost  they 
could  get  through  in  a year,  and  every  year  brought  more 


WETZLAR. 


103 


1772.] 

than  double  that  number  to  swell  the  heap.  Some  cases  had 
lingered  through  a century  and  a half,  and  still  remained  far 
from  a decision.  This  was  not  a place  to  impress  the  sincere 
and  eminently  practical  mind  of  Goethe  with  a high  idea  of 
Jurisprudence. 

Das  Teuische  Hans  was  one  of  the  remnants  of  the  ancient 
institution  of  the  Teutsche  Ritter , or  Teutonic  Order  of 
Knighthood,  celebrated  in  German  mediaeval  history.  The 
student  is  familiar  with  the  black  armor  and  white  mantles 
of  these  warrior-priests,  who  fought  with  the  zeal  of  mission- 
aries and  the  terrible  valor  of  knights,  conquering  for  them- 
selves a large  territory,  and  still  greater  influence.  But  it 
fared  with  them  as  with  the  knights  of  other  Orders.  Their 
strength  lay  in  their  zeal;  their  zeal  abated  with  success. 
Years  brought  them  increasing  wealth,  but  the  spiritual 
wealth  and  glory  of  their  cause  departed.  They  became 
what  all  corporations  inevitably  become  ; and  at  the  time 
now  written  of  they  were  reduced  to  a level  with  the  knights 
of  Malta.  The  Order  still  possessed  property  in  various 
parts  of  Germany,  and  in  certain  towns  there  was  a sort  of 
steward’s  house,  where  rents  were  collected  and  the  business 
of  the  Order  transacted  ; this  was  uniformly  styled  das  Teut- 
sche Haus . There  was  such  a one  in  Wetzlar ; and  the  Amt- 
mann , or  steward,  who  had  superintendence  over  it,  was  a 
certain  Herr  Buff,  on  whom  the  reader  is  requested  to  fix  his 
eye,  not  for  any  attractiveness  of  Herr  Buff,  intrinsically  con- 
sidered, but  for  the  sake  of  his  eldest  daughter,  Charlotte. 
She  is  the  heroine  of  this  Wetzlar  episode. 

Nor  was  this  house  the  only  echo  of  the  ancient  Ritter- 
thum  in  Wetzlar.  Goethe,  on  his  arrival,  found  there  another 
and  more  Consciously  burlesque  parody,  in  the  shape  of  a 
Round  Table  and  its  Knights,  bearing  such  names  as  St. 
Amand  the  Opinionative,  Eustace  the  Prudent,  Lubormirsky 


104 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


the  Combative,  and  so  forth.  It  was  founded  by  August 
Friedrich  von  Goue,  secretary  to  the  Brunswick  Embassy,  of 
whom  we  shall  hear  more  : a wild  and  whimsical  fellow,  not 
without  a streak  of  genius,  who  drank  himself  to  death.  He 
bore  the  title  of  Ritter  Coucy,  and  christened  Goethe  “ Gotz 
von  Berlichingen  der  Redliche , — Gotz  the  Honest.” 

Of  this  Round  Table  and  its  buffooneries,  Goethe  has 
merely  told  us  that  he  entered  heartily  into  the  fun  at  first, 
but  soon  wearying  of  it,  relapsed  into  his  melancholy  fits.  A 
description  of  him,  written  by  Kestner  at  this  period,  is  very 
interesting,  as  it  gives  us  faithfully  the  impression  he  pro- 
duced on  his  acquaintances  before  celebrity  had  thrown  its 
halo  round  his  head,  and  dazzled  the  perceptions  of  his  ad- 
mirers : — 

“ In  the  spring  there  came  here  a certain  Goethe,  by  trade  * 
a Doctor  Juris , twenty-three  years  old,  only  son  of  a very 
rich  father;  in  order  — this  was  his  father’s  intention  — that 
he  might  get  some  experience  in  praxi , but  according  to  his 
own  intention,  that  he  might  study  Homer,  Pindar,  etc.,  and 
whatever  else  his  genius,  his  manner  of  thinking,  and  his 
heart  might  suggest  to  him. 

“ At  the  very  first  the  beaux  esprits  here  announced  him  to 
the  public  as  a colleague,  and  as  a collaborator  in  the  new 
Frankfurt  Gelehrte  Zeitung , parenthetically  also  as  a philos- 
opher, and  gave  themselves  trouble  to  become  intimate  with 
him.  As  I do  not  belong  to  this  class  of  people,  or  rather 
am  not  so  much  in  general  society,  I did  not  know  Goethe 
until  later,  and  quite  by  accident.  One  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  our  beaux  esprits , the  Secretary  of  Legation 
Gotter,  persuaded  me  one  day  to  go  with  him  to  the  village 
of  Garbenheim,  — a common  walk.  There  I found  him  on 

* Seiner  Handthierung  nack.  The  word  is  old  German,  and  now  fallen 
out  of  use,  although  the  verb  handthieren  is  still  occasionally  used. 


1772  ] 


WETZLAR. 


105 


the  grass,  under  a tree,  lying  on  his  back,  while  he  talked  to 
some  persons  standing  around  him,  — an  epicurean  philos- 
opher (von  Goue,  a great  genius),  a stoic  philosopher  (von 
Kielmansegge),  and  a hybrid  between  the  two  (Dr.  Konig)  — 
and  thoroughly  enjoyed  himself.  He  was  afterwards  glad  that 
I had  made  his  acquaintance  under  such  circumstances. 
Many  things  were  talked  of,  — some  of  them  very  interesting. 
This  time,  however,  I formed  no  other  judgment  concerning 
him  than  that  he  was  no  ordinary  man.  You  know  that  I do 
not  judge  hastily.  I found  at  once  that  he  had  genius,  and  a 
lively  imagination  ; but  this  was  not  enough  to  make  me  esti- 
mate him  highly. 

“ Before  I proceed  further,  I must  attempt  a description  of 
him,  as  I have  since  learned  to  know  him  better.  He  has  a 
great  deal  of  talent,  is  a true  genius,  and  a man  of  character ; 
possesses  an  extraordinarily  vivid  imagination,  and  hence  gen- 
erally expresses  himself  in  images  and  similes.  He  often 
says,  himself,  that  he  always  speaks  figuratively,  and  can 
never  express  himself  literally  ; but  that  when  he  is  older  he 
hopes  to  think  and  say  the  thought  itself  as  it  really  is.  He 
is  ardent  in  all  his  affections,  and  yet  has  often  great  power 
over  himself.  His  manner  of  thinking  is  noble  : he  is  so  free' 
from  prejudices  that  he  acts  as  it  seems  good  to  him,  without 
troubling  himself  whether  it  will  please  others,  whether  it  is 
the  fashion,  whether  conventionalism  allows  it.  All  con- 
straint is  odious  to  him. 

“ He  is  fond  of  children,  and  can  occupy  himself  with 
them  very  much.  He  is  bizarre , and  there  are  several  things 
in  his  manners  and  outward  bearing  which  might  make  him 
disagreeable.  But  with  children,  women,  and  many  others, 
he  is  nevertheless  a favorite.  He  has  a great  respect  for  the 
female  sex.  In  principiis  he  is  not  yet  fixed,  and  is  still 
striving  after  a sure  system.  To  say  something  of  this,  he 
5* 


I06  the  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 

has  a high  opinion  of  Rousseau,  but  is  not  a blind  wor- 
shipper of  him.  He  is  not  what  is  called  orthodox.  Still 
this  is  not  out  of  pride  or  caprice,  or  for  the  sake  of 
making  himself  a role.  On  certain  important  subjects  he 
opens  himself  to  few,  and  does  not  willingly  disturb  the  con- 
tentment of  others  in  their  own  ideas.  It  is  true  he  hates 
scepticism,  strives  after  truth  and  after  conviction  on  cer- 
tain main  points,  and  even  believes  that  he  is  already  con- 
vinced as  to  the  weightiest ; but,  as  far  as  I have  observed, 
he  is  not  yet  so.  He  does  not  go  to  church  or  to  the  sacra- 
ment, and  prays  seldom.  For,  says  he,  I am  not  hypocrite 
enough  for  that.  Sometimes  he  seems  in  repose  with  regard 
to  certain  subjects,  sometimes  just  the  contrary.  He  vener- 
ates the  Christian  religion,  but  not  in  the  form  in  which  it  is 
presented  by  our  theologians.  He  believes  in  a future  life, 
in  a better  state  of  existence.  He  strives  after  truth,  yet 
values  the  feeling  of  truth  more  than  the  demonstration.  He 
has  already  done  much,  and  has  many  acquirements,  much 
reading ; but  he  has  thought  and  reasoned  still  more.  He 
has  occupied  himself  chiefly  with  the  belles  lettres  and  the  fine 
arts,  or  rather  with  all  sorts  of  knowledge,  except  that  which 
wins  bread.” 

On  the  margin  of  this  rough  draught,  Kestner  adds  : “ I 
wished  to  describe  him,  but  it  would  be  too  long  a business, 
for  there  is  much  to  be  said  about  him.  In  one  word,  he  is  a 
very  remarkable  man .” 

In  conjunction  with  Gotter  the  young  poet  translated 
Goldsmith’s  Deserted  Village,  though  he  speaks  slightingly 
of  his  share  in  it.  Through  Gotter’s  representations  he 
was  also  persuaded  to  publish  some  little  poems  in  Boie’s 
Annual. 

It  was  a period  of  deep  unrest  in  Europe,  — the  travail  of 
the  French  Revolution.  In  Germany  the  spirit  of  the  Revolu- 


1772.] 


WETZLAR. 


107 


tion  issued  from  the  study  and  the  lecture-hall ; it  was  a 
literary  and  philosophic  insurrection,  with  Lessing,  Klop- 
stock,  Kant,  Herder,  and  Goethe  for  leaders.  Authority 
was  everywhere  attacked,  because  everywhere  it  had  shown 
itself  feeble  or  tyrannous.  The  majestic  peruke  of  Louis 
XIV.  was  lifted  by  an  audacious  hand,  which  thus  revealed 
the  baldness  so  long  concealed.  No  one  then  believed  in 
that  Grand  Monarque ; least  of  all  Goethe,  who  had  Gotz 
von  Berlichingen  in  his  portfolio,  and  to  whom  Homer  and 
Shakespeare  were  idols.  “ Send  me  no  more  books,”  writes 
Werther,  “ I will  no  longer  be  led,  incited,  spurred  by  them. 
There  is  storm  enough  in  this  breast.  I want  a cradle-mel- 
ody, and  that  I have  in  all  its  fulness  in  Homer.  How 
often  do  I lull  with  it  my  raging  blood  to  rest ! ” The  Kest- 
ner  correspondence  proves,  what  before  was  known,  that 
Werther  is  full  of  biography,  and  that  Goethe  was  then 
troubled  with  fits  of  depression  following  upon  days  of  the 
wildest  animal  spirits.  He  was  fond  of  solitude  ; and  the 
lonely  hours  passed  in  reading,  or  making  sketches  of  the 
landscape  in  his  rough  imperfect  style. 

The  image  which  was  to  supplant  that  of  Frederika  was 
none  other  than  of  the  Charlotte  Buff,  before  mentioned. 
Two  years  before  his  arrival,  her  mother  had  died.  The 
care  of  the  house  and  children  devolved  upon  her ; she  was 
only  sixteen,  yet  good  sense,  housewifely  aptitude,  and 
patient  courage  carried  her  successfully  through  this  task. 
She  had  for  two  years  been  betrothed  to  Kestner,  secretary 
to  the  Hanoverian  Legation,  then  aged  four-and-twenty  : a 
quiet,  orderly,  formal,  rational,  cultivated  man,  possessing 
great  magnanimity,  as  the  correspondence  proves,  and  a 
dignity  which  is  in  nowise  represented  in  the  Albert  of  Wer- 
ther, from  whom  we  must  be  careful  to  distinguish  him,  in  spite 
of  the  obvious  identity  of  position.  How  Goethe  came  to  know 


io8 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  III. 


Kestner  has  already  been  seen  ; how  he  came  to  know  Lotte 
may  now  be  told.*  The  reader  with  Werther  in  hand  may 
compare  the  narrative  there  given  with  this  extract  from 
Kestner’s  letter  to  a friend,  “ It  happened  that  Goethe  was 
at  a ball  in  the  country  where  my  maiden  and  I also  were. 

I could  only  come  late,  and  was  forced  to  ride  after  them. 
My  maiden,  therefore,  drove  there  in  other  society.  In  the 
carriage  was  Dr.  Goethe,  who  here  first  saw  Lottchen.  He 
has  great  knowledge,  and  has  made  Nature  in  her  physical 
and  moral  aspects  his  principal  study,  and  has  sought  the 
true  beauty  of  both.  No  woman  here  had  pleased  him. 
Lottchen  at  once  fixed  his  attention.  She  is  young,  and  al- 
though not  regularly  beautiful,  has  a very  attractive  face. 
Her  glance  is  as  bright  as  a spring  morning,  and  especially  it 
was  so  that  day,  for  she  loves  dancing.  She  was  gay,  and  in 
quite  a simple  dress.  He  noticed  her  feeling  for  the  beauty 
of  Nature,  and  her  unforced  wit,  — rather  humor  than  wit. 
He  did  not  know  she  was  betrothed.  I came  a few  hours 
later  ; and  it  is  not  our  custom  in  public  to  testify  anything 
beyond  friendship  to  each  other.  He  was  excessively  gay 
(this  he  often  is,  though  at  other  times  melancholy) ; Lott- 
chen quite  fascinated  him,  the  more  so  because  she  took  no 
trouble  about  it,  but  gave  herself  wholly  to  the  pleasure  of 
the  moment.  The  next  day,  of  course,  Goethe  called  to 
inquire  after  her.  He  had  seen  her  as  a lively  girl,  fond  of 
dancing  and  pleasure  ; he  now  saw  her  under  another  and  a 
better  aspect,  — in  her  domestic  quality.” 

To  judge  from  her  portrait,  Lotte  must,  in  her  way,  have 
been  a charming  creature  : not  intellectually  cultivated,  not 
poetical,  — above  all,  not  the  sentimental  girl  described  by 
Werther ; but  a serene,  calm,  joyous,  open-hearted  German 

* Lotte  and  Lottchen,  it  is  perhaps  not  altogether  superfluous  to  add, 
are  the  favorite  diminutives  of  Charlotte. 


WETZLAR. 


IO9 


1772.] 

maiden,  an  excellent  housewife,  and  a priceless  manager. 
Goethe  at  once  fell  in  love  with  her.  An  extract  from  Kest- 
ner’s  account  will  tell  us  more.  After  describing  his  engage- 
ment to  Lotte,  he  adds  : “ She  is  not  strictly  a brilliant 
beauty,  according  to  the  common  opinion  ; to  me  she  is  one  : 
she  is,  notwithstanding,  the  fascinating  maiden  who  might 
have  hosts  of  admirers,  old  and  young,  grave  and  gay,  clever 
and  stupid,  etc.  But  she  knows  how  to  convince  them 
quickly  that  their  only  safety  must  be  sought  in  flight  or  in 
friendship.  One  of  these,  as  the  most  remarkable,  I will 
mention,  because  he  retains  an  influence  over  us.  A youth 
in  years  (twenty-three),  but  in  knowledge,  and  in  the  devel- 
opment of  his  mental  powers  and  character,  already  a man, 
an  extraordinary  genius,  and  a man  of  character,  was  here, 
— as  his  family  believed,  for  the  sake  of  studying  the  law, 
but  in  fact  to  track  the  footsteps  of  Nature  and  Truth,  and  to 
study  Homer  and  Pindar.  He  had  no  need  to  study  for  the 
sake  of  a maintenance.  Quite  by  chance,  after  he  had  been 
here  some  time,  he  became  acquainted  with  Lottchen,  and 
saw  in  her  his  ideal : he  saw  her  in  her  joyous  aspect,  but 
was  soon  aware  that  this  was" not  her  best  side;  he  learned 
to  know  her  also  in  her  domestic  position,  and,  in  a word, 
became  her  adorer.  It  could  not  long  remain  unknown  to 
him  that  she  could  give  him  nothing  but  friendship ; and  her 
conduct  towards  him  was  admirable.  Our  coincidence  of 
taste,  and  a closer  acquaintance  with  each  other,  formed 
between  him  and  me  the  closest  bond  of  friendship.  Mean- 
while, although  he  was  forced  to  renounce  all  hope  in  relation 
to  Lottchen,  and  did  renounce  it,  yet  he  could  not,  with  all 
his  philosophy  and  natural  pride,  so  far  master  himself  as 
completely  to  repress  his  inclination.  And  he  has  qualities 
which  might  make  him  dangerous  to  a woman,  especially  to 
one  of  susceptibility  and  taste.  But  Lottchen  knew  how  to 


I 10 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


treat  him  so  as  not  to  encourage  vain  hope,  and  yet  make 
him  admire  her  manner  towards  him.  His  peace  of  mind 
suffered : there  were  many  remarkable  scenes,  in  which 
Lottchen’s  behavior  heightened  my  regard  for  her  ; and  he 
also  became  more  precious  to  me  as  a friend  ; but  I was 
often  inwardly  astonished  that  love  can  make  such  strange 
creatures  even  of  the  strongest  and  otherwise  the  most  self- 
sustained  men.  I pitied  him,  and  had  many  inward  strug- 
gles ; for,  on  the  one  hand,  I thought  that  I might  not  be  in 
a position  to  make  Lottchen  so  happy  as  he  would  make  her ; 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  I could  not  endure  the  thought  of 
losing  her.  The  latter  feeling  conquered,  and  in  Lottchen  I 
have  never  once  been  able  to  perceive  a shadow  of  the  same 
conflict.” 

Another  extract  will  place  this  conflict  in  its  true  light  : 
“ I am  under  no  further  engagement  to  Lottchen  than  that 
under  which  an  honorable  man  stands  when  he  gives  a young 
woman  the  preference  above  all  others,  makes  known  that  he 
desires  the  like  feeling  from  her,  and  when  she  gives  it,  re- 
ceives from  her  not  only  this,  but  a complete  acquiescence. 
This  I consider  quite  enough  to  bind  an  honorable  man, 
especially  when  such  a relation  lasts  several  years.  But  in 
my  case  there  is  this  in  addition,  that  Lottchen  and  I have 
expressly  declared  ourselves,  and  still  do  so  with  pleasure, 
without  any  oaths  and  asseverations.”  This  absence  of  any 
legal  tie  between  them  must  have  made  Kestner’s  position 
far  more  trying.  It  gives  a higher  idea  both  of  his  generous 
forbearance  and  of  the  fascination  exercised  by  Goethe  : for 
what  a position  ! and  how  much  nobility  on  all  sides  was 
necessary  to  prevent  petty  jealousies  ending  in  a violent  rup- 
ture ! Certain  it  is  that  the  greatest  intimacy  and  the  most 
affectionate  feelings  were  kept  up  without  disturbance.  Con- 
fident in  the  honor  of  his  friend  and  the  truth  of  his  mistress, 


WETZLAR. 


Ill 


1772] 

Kestner  never  spoiled  the  relation  by  a hint  of  jealousy. 
Goethe  was  constantly  in  Lotte’s  house,  where  his  arrival  was 
a jubilee  to  the  children,  who  seized  hold  of  him,  as  children 
always  take  loving  possession  of  those  who  are  indulgent  to 
them,  and  forced  him  to  tell  them  stories.  It  is  a pleasant 
sight  to  see  Goethe  with  children ; he  always  shows  such 
hearty  fondness  for  them ; and  these  brothers  and  sisters  of 
Lotte  were  doubly  endeared  to  him  because  they  belonged 
to  her. 

One  other  figure  in  this  Wetzlar  set  arrests  our  attention  : 
it  is  that  of  a handsome  blond  youth,  with  soft  blue  eyes 
and  a settled  melancholy  expression.  His  name  is  Jerusa- 
lem, and  he  is  the  son  of  the  venerable  Abbot  of  Rid- 
dagshausen.*  He  is  here  attached  as  secretary  to  the 
Brunswick  Legation,  a colleague,  therefore,  of  von  Goue. 
He  is  deeply  read  in  English  literature,  and  has  had  the 
honor  of  Lessing’s  friendship ; a friendship  subsequently 
expressed  in  the  following  terms,  when  Lessing,  acting  as 
his  editor,  wrote  the  preface  to  his  Philosophical  Essays : 
“When  he  came  to  Wolfenbiittel  he  gave  me  his  friendship. 
I did  not  enjoy  it  long,  but  I cannot  easily  name  one  who  in 
so  short  a space  of  time  excited  in  me  more  affection.  It  is 
true  I only  learned  to  know  one  side  of  his  nature,  but  it 
was  the  side  which  explains  all  the  rest.  It  was  the  desire 
for  clear  knowledge  ; the  talent  to  follow  truth  to  its  last  con- 
sequences ; the  spirit  of  cold  observation ; but  an  ardent 

spirit  not  to  be  intimidated  by  truth How  sensitive, 

how  warm,  how  active  this  young  inquirer  was,  how  true  a 
man  among  men,  is  better  known  to  more  intimate  friends.” 

The  melancholy  of  his  disposition  led  him  to  think  much 

* No  Catholic,  as  this  title  might  seem  to  imply,  but  a Protestant ; 
his  abbey,  secularized  two  centuries  before,  yielded  him  only  a title  and 
revenues. 


1 1 2 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


of  suicide,  which  he  defended  on  speculative  grounds.  And 
this  melancholy,  and  these  meditations,  were  deepened  by  an 
unhappy  passion  for  the  wife  of  one  of  his  friends.  The 
issue  of  that  passion  we  shall  have  to  narrate  in  a future 
chapter.  For  the  present  it  is  enough  to  indicate  the  pres- 
ence of  this  youth  among  the  circle  of  Goethe’s  acquaint- 
ances. They  saw  but  little  of  each  other,  owing  to  the 
retiring  sensitiveness  of  Jerusalem  ; probably  the  same  cause 
had  kept  them  asunder  years  before  in  Leipsic,  where  they 
were  fellow-students  ; but  their  acquaintance  furnished  Goethe 
with  material  which  he  was  afterwards  to  use  in  his  novel. 

Jerusalem’s  unhappy  passion  and  Goethe’s  unhappy  pas- 
sion, one  would  think,  must  have  been  a bond  of  union 
between  them  ; but  in  truth  Goethe’s  passion  can  scarcely 
have  been  called  “ unhappy,”  — it  was  rather  a delicious  un- 
easiness. Love,  in  the  profound,  absorbing  sense,  it  was  not. 
It  was  an  imaginative  passion , in  which  the  poet  was  more 
implicated  than  the  man.  Lotte  excited  his  imagination ; 
her  beauty,  her  serene  gayety,  her  affectionate  manners, 
charmed  him ; the  romance  of  his  position  heightened  the 
charm,  by  giving  an  unconscious  security  to  his  feelings.  I am 
persuaded  that  if  Lotte  had  been  free,  he  would  have  fled 
from  her  as  he  fled  from  Frederika.  In  saying  this,  however, 
I do  not  mean  that  the  impossibility  of  obtaining  her  gave 
him  any  comfort.  He  was  restless,  impatient,  and,  in  a cer- 
tain sense,  unhappy.  He  believed  himself  to  be  desperately 
in  love  with  her,  when  in  truth  he  was  only  in  love  with  the 
indulgence  of  the  emotions  she  excited ; a paradox  which 
will  be  no  mystery  to  those  acquainted  with  the  poetic  tem- 
perament. 

The  following  extracts  from  Kestner’s  Diary  will  remind 
the  reader  of  Goethe’s  departure  from  Leipsic  without  saying 
adieu  to  Kathchen.  His  dislike  of  “ scenes  ” made  him 


WETZLAR. 


1772.] 


1 13 


shrink  from  those  emotions  of  leave-taking  usually  so  eagerly 
sought  by  lovers  : — 

“Sept.  10th , 1772.  To-day  Dr.  Goethe  dined  with  me  in 
the  garden ; I did  not  know  that  it  was  the  last  time.  In 
the  evening  Dr.  Goethe  came  to  the  Teutsche  Hans.  He, 
Lottchen,  and  I had  a remarkable  conversation  about  the 
future  state ; about  going  away  and  returning,  etc.,  which 
was  not  begun  by  him,  but  by  Lottchen.  We  agreed  that 
the  one  who  died  first  should,  if  he  could,  give  information 
to  the  living,  about  the  conditions  of  the  other  life.  Goethe 
was  quite  cast  down,  for  he  knew  that  the  next  morning  he 
was  to  go.” 

“ Sept,  nth,  1772.  This  morning  at  seven  o’clock  Goethe 
set  off  without  taking  leave.  He  sent  me  a note  with  some 
btfoks.  He  had  long  said  that  about  this  time  he  would 
make  a journey  to  Coblentz,  where  the  paymaster  of  the 
forces,  Merck,  awaited  him,  and  that  he  would  say  no  good 
byes,  but  set  off  suddenly.  So  I had  expected  it.  But  that  I 
was,  notwithstanding,  unprepared  for  it,  I have  felt,  — felt 
deep  in  my  soul.  In  the  morning  I came  home.  £ Herr  Dr. 
Goethe  sent  this  at  ten  o’clock.’  I saw  the  books  and  the 
note,  and  thought  what  this  said  to  me,  — ‘ He  is  gone  ! ’ — 
and  was  quite  dejected.  Soon  after,  Hans  * came  to  ask  me 
if  he  were  really  gone.  The  Geheime  Rdthin  Langen  had 
sent  to  say  by  a maid-servant : ‘ It  was  very  ill-mannered  of 
Dr.  Goethe  to  set  off  in  this  way,  without  taking  leave.’ 
Lottchen  sent  word  in  reply  : * Why  had  she  not  taught  her 
nephew  better?’  Lottchen,  in  order  to  be  certain,  sent  a 
box  which  she  had  of  Goethe’s,  to  his  house.  He  was  no 
longer  there.  In  the  middle  of  the  day  the  Geheime  Rdthin 
Langen  sent  word  again : ‘ She  would,  however,  let  Dn 
Goethe’s  mother  know  how  he  had  conducted  himself' 


* One  of  Lotte’s  brothers. 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iii. 


114 

Every  one  of  the’children  in  the  Teutsche  Haus  was  saying: 
1 Doctor  Goethe  is  gone !*  In  the  middle  of  the  day  I talked 
with  Herr  von  Born,  who  had  accompanied  him,  on  horse- 
back, as  far  as  Brunnfells.  Goethe  had  told  him  of  our 
evening’s  conversation.  Goethe  had  set  out  in  very  low 
spirits.  In  the  afternoon  I took  Goethe’s  note  to  Lottchen. 
She  was  sorry  about  his  departure  ; the  tears  came  into  her 
eyes  while  reading.  Yet  it  was  a satisfaction  to  her  that  he 
was  gone,  since  she  could  not  give  him  the  affection  he 
desired.  We  spoke  only  of  him ; indeed,  I could  think  of 
nothing  else,  and  defended  the  manner  of  his  leaving,  which 
was  blamed  by  a silly  person ; I did  it  with  much  warmth. 
Afterwards  I wrote  him  word  what  had  happened  since  his 
departure.” 

How  graphically  do  these  simple  touches  set  the  whole 
situation  before  us  : the  sorrow  of  the  two  lovers  at  the 
departure  of  their  friend,  and  the  consternation  of  the  chil- 
dren on  hearing  that  Dr.  Goethe  is  gone  ! One  needs  such 
a picture  to  reassure  us  that  the  episode,  with  all  its  strange 
romance,  and  with  all  its  danger,  was  not  really  a fit  of  mor- 
bid sentimentalism.  Indeed,  had  Goethe  been  the  senti- 
mental Werther  he  has  represented,  he  would  never  have  had 
the  strength  of  will  to  tear  himself  from  such  a position.  He 
would  have  blown  his  brains  out,  as  Werther  did.  On  the 
other  hand,  note  what  a worthy  figure  is  this  of  Kestner, 
compared  with  the  cold  Albert  of  the  novel.  A less  gener- 
ous nature  would  have  rejoiced  in  the  absence  of  a rival,  and 
forgotten,  in  its  joy,  the  loss  of  a friend.  But  Kestner,  who 
knew  that  his  friend  was  his  rival,  — and  such  a rival,  that 
doubts  crossed  him  whether  this  magnificent  youth  were  not 
really  more  capable  of  rendering  Lotte  happy  than  he  him- 
self was,  — grieved  for  the  absence  of  his  friend ! 

Here  is  Goethe’s  letter,  referred  to  in  the  passage  just 
quoted  from  the  Diary : — 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


1772.] 


“5 


“ He  is  gone,  Kestner ; when  you  get  this  note,  he  is  gone  ! 
Give  Lottchen  the  enclosed.  I was  quite  composed,  but 
your  conversation  has  torn  me  to  pieces.  At  this  moment  I 
can  say  nothing  to  you  but  farewrell.  If  I had  remained  a 
moment  longer  with  you  I could  not  have  restrained  myself. 
Now  I am  alone,  and  to-morrow  I go.  O my  poor  head  ! ” 
This  was  the  enclosure,  addressed  to  Lotte : — 

“ I certainly  hope  to  come  again,  but  God  knows  when ! 
Lotte,  what  did  my  heart  feel  while  you  were  talking,  know- 
ing, as  I did,  that  it  was  the  last  time  I should  see  you? 
Not  the  last  time,  and  yet  to-morrow  I go  away.  He  is 
gone ! What  spirit  led  you  to  that  conversation  ? When  I 
was  expected  to  say  all  I felt,  alas  ! what  I cared  about  was 
here  below,  was  your  hand,  which  I kissed  for  the  last  time. 
The  room,  which  I shall  not  enter  again,  and  the  dear  father 
who  saw  me  to  the  door  for  the  last  time.  I am  now  alone, 
and  may  weep ; I leave  you  happy,  and  shall  remain  in  your 
heart.  And  shall  see  you  again  ; but  not  to-morrow  is  never  / 
Tell  my  boys,  He  is  gone.  I can  say  no  more.” 


CHAPTER  III. 

PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 

Having  sent  his  luggage  to  the  house  of  Frau  von  Laroche, 
where  he  was  to  meet  Merck,  he  made  the  journey  down  the 
Lahn,  on  foot.  A delicious  sadness  subdued  his  thoughts  as 
he  wandered  dreamily  along  the  river  banks  ; and  the  lovely 
scenes  which  met  his  eye  solicited  his  pencil,  awakening  once 
more  the  ineffectual  desire  (which  from  time  to  time  haunted 
him)  of  becoming  a painter.  He  had  really  no  faculty  in 


H6  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 

this  direction,  yet  the  desire,  often  suppressed,  now  rose  up 
in  such  a serious  shape,  that  he  resolved  to  settle  forever 
whether  he  should  devote  himself  to  the  art  or  not.  The 
test  was  curious.  The  river  glided  beneath,  now  flashing  in 
the  sunlight,  now  partially  concealed  by  willows.  Taking  a 
knife  from  his  pocket  he  flung  it  with  his  left  hand  into  the 
river,  having  previously  resolved  that  if  he  saw  it  fall  he  was 
to  become  an  artist ; but  if  the  sinking  knife  were  concealed 
by  the  willows  he  was  to  abandon  the  idea.  No  ancient 
oracle  was  ever  more  ambiguous  than  the  answer  now  given 
him.  The  willows  concealed  the  sinking  knife,  but  the 
water  splashed  up  like  a fountain,  and -was  distinctly  visible. 
So  indefinite  an  answer  left  him  in  doubt.* 

He  wandered  pleasantly  on  the  banks  till  he  reached  Ems, 
and  then  journeyed  down  the  river  in  a boat.  The  old  Rhine 
opened  upon  him ; and  he  mentions  with  peculiar  delight  the 
magnificent  situation  of  Oberlahnstein,  and,  above  all,  the 
majesty  of  the  castle  of  Ehrenbreitstein.  On  arriving  at  the 
house  of  Laroche,  where  he  had  been  announced  by  Merck, 
he  was  most  kindly  received  by  this  excellent  family.  His 
literary  tendencies  bound  him  to  the  mother ; his  joyousness 
and  strong  sense,  to  the  father ; his  youth  and  poetry,  to  the 
daughters.  The  Frau  von  Laroche,  Wieland’s  earliest  love, 
had  written  a novel  in  the  Richardson  style,  Die  Geschichte 
des  Frduleins  von  Sternheim;  and  Schafer  remarks  that  she 

* This  mode  of  interrogating  fate  recalls  that  strange  passage  in 
Rousseau’s  Confessions  (Livre  VI.),  where  he  throws  a stone  at  a tree  : 
if  he  hits,  it  is  a sign  of  salvation ; if  he  misses,  of  damnation  ! For- 
tunately he  hits  : “ Ce  qui,  veritablement,  n’etait  pas  difficile,  car  j’avais 
eu  le  soin  de  le  choisir  fort  gros  et  fort  pres  ; depuis  lors  n’ai  plus 
doute  de  mon  salut.”  Had  Goethe  read  this  passage  ? Tfte  Confessions 
appeared  in  1768,  that  is,  four  years  before  this  journey  down  the  Lahn. 
Yet  from  a passage  in  one  of  his  letters  to  the  Frau  von  Stein,  it  seems 
as  if  he  then,  1782,  first  read  the  Confessions. 


1773  ] PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER . jjy 

probably  gathered  Merck,  Goethe,  and  others  into  her  house 
with  a view  to  favorable  criticisms  of  this  novel.  If  this 
were  her  design,  she  succeeded  with  Goethe,  who  reviewed 
her  book  in  the  Frankfurter  Gelehrten  Anzeigen,  Whether  this 
compliance  was  extorted  by  herself,  or  by  the  charms  of  her 
daughter  Maximiliane,  history  saith  not ; certain  it  is  that  the 
dark  eyes  of  the  daughter  made  an  impression  on  the  heart  of 
the  young  reviewer.  She  is  the  Mdlle.  B.  introduced  in  Wer- 
ther ; but  she  is  even  still  more  interesting  to  us  as  the  future 
mother  of  Bettina.  They  seem  to  have  looked  into  each 
other’s  eyes,  flirted  and  sentimentalized,  as  if  no  Lotte  had 
been  left  in  Wetzlar.  Nor  will  this  surprise  those  who  have 
considered  the  mobile  nature  of  our  poet.  He  is  miserable 
at  moments,  but  the  fulness  of  abounding  life,  the  strength  of 
victorious  will,  and  the  sensibility  to  new  impressions,  keep 
his  ever-active  nature  from  the  despondency  which  killed 
Werther.  He  is  not  always  drooping  because  Charlotte  is 
another’s.  He  is  open  to  every  new  impression,  serious  or 
gay.  Thus,  among  other  indications,  we  find  him  throwing 
off  in  Pater  Brey  and  Satyros,  sarcasm  and  humor  which  are 
curious  as  products  of  the  Werther  period,  although  of  no  ab- 
solute worth ; and  we  follow  him  up  the  Rhine,  in  company 
with  Merck  and  his  family,  leisurely  enjoying  Rheinfels,  St. 
Goar,  Bacharach,  Bingen,  Elfeld,  and  Biberich,  sketching  as 
if  life  were  a leisure  summer  day. 

He  returned  to  Frankfurt,  and  busied  himself  with  law,  lit-  \ 
erature,  and  painting.  Wandering  Italians,  then  rare,  brought 
casts  of  antique  statues  to  Frankfurt ; and  with  delighted 
eagerness  he  purchased  a complete  set,  thus  to  revive  as  much 
as  possible  the  grand  impression  he  received  at  Mannheim. 
Among  his  art-studies  must  be  noted  the  attention  bestowed 
on  the  Dutch  painters.  He  began  to  copy  some  still-life  pic- 
tures ; one  of  these  he  mentions  with  pride,  and  what,  think 


ii  8 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


you,  this  one  was  ? — a copy  of  a tortoise-shell  knife-handle  in- 
laid with  silver ! He  has  Gotz  von  Berlichingen  in  his  port- 
folio, and  delights  in  copying  a knife-handle  ! 

To  law  he  devoted  himself  with  greater  assiduity  than  ever. 
His  father,  delighted  at  going  through  the  papers  with  him, 
was  peculiarly  gratified  at  this  honorable  diligence,  and  in 
his  delight  was  willing  to  overlook  the  other  occupations  of 
“ this  singular  creature,”  as  he  rightly  named  him.  Goethe’s 
literary  plans  were  numerous,  and  the  Frankfurt  Journal  gave 
him  constant  opportunities  for  expressing  himself  on  poetry, 
theology,  and  even  politics. 

When  Gotz  appeared  the  effect  on  the  public  was  instanta- 
neous, startling.  Its  bold  expression  of  the  spirit  of  Freedom, 
its  defiance  of  French  criticism,  and  the  originality,  no  less 
than  the  power  of  the  writing,  carried  it  triumphant  over  Ger- 
many. It  was  pronounced  a masterpiece  in  all  the  salons  and 
in  all  the  beer-houses  of  that  uneasy  time.  Imitations  fol- 
lowed with  amazing  rapidity;  the  stage  was  noisy  with  the 
clang  of  chivalry,  and  the  bookshelves  creaked  beneath  the 
weight  of  resuscitated  Feudal  Times. 

An  amusing  example  of  “ the  trade  ” is  mentioned  by 
Goethe.  A bookseller  paid  him  a visit,  and  with  the  air  of  a 
man  well  satisfied  with  his  proposal,  offered  to  give  an  order 
for  a dozen  plays  in  the  style  of  Gotz , for  which  a handsome 
honorarium  should  be  paid.  His  offer  was  the  more  gener- 
ous, because  such  was  the  state  of  literature  at  this  period, 
that,  in  spite  of  the  success  Gotz  achieved,  it  brought  no 
money  to  its  author, — pirated  editions  circulating  everywhere, 
and  robbing  him  of  his  reward.  Moreover,  what  the  book- 
seller proposed  was  what  the  public  expected.  When  once  a 
writer  has  achieved  success  in  any  direction,  he  must' continue 
in  that  direction,  or  peril  his  reputation.  An  opinion  has 
been  formed  of  him, — he  has  been  classed;  and  the  public 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


I773-] 


II9 


will  not  have  its  classification  disturbed.  Nevertheless,  if  he 
repeat  himself,  this  unreasoning  public  declaims  against  his 
“poverty.”  No  man  ever  repeated  himself  less  than  .Goethe. 
He  did  not  model  a statue,  and  then  amuse  himself  with 
taking  casts  of  it  in  different  materials.  He  lived,  thought, 
and  suffered  ; and  because  he  had  lived,  thought,  and  suf- 
fered, he  wrote.  When  he  had  once  expressed  his  experi- 
ence in  a work,  he  never  recurred  to  it.  The  true  artist,  like 
the  snake,  casts  his  skin,  but  never  resumes  it.  He  works  ac- 
cording to  the  impulse  from  within,  not  according  to  the  de- 
mand from  without.  And  Goethe  was  a genuine  artist,  never 
exhausting  a lucky  discovery,  never  working  an  impoverished 
vein.  Every  poem  came  fresh  from  life,  coined  from  the 
mint  of  his  experience. 

Gotz  is  the  greatest  product  of  the  Sturm  und  Drang 
movement.  As  we  before  hinted,  this  period  is  not  simply 
one  of  vague  wild  hopes  and  retrospections  of  old  German 
life,  it  is  also  one  of  unhealthy  sentimentalism.  Goethe,  the 
great  representative  poet  of  his  day — the  secretary  of  his 
age  — gives  us  masterpieces  which  characterize  both  these 
tendencies.  Beside  the  insurgent  Gotz  stands  the  dreamy 
Werther.  And  yet,  accurately  as  these  two  works  represent 
two  active  tendencies  of  that  time,  they  are  both  far  removed 
above  the  perishing  extravagances  of  that  time  ; they  are  both 
ideal  expressions  of  the  age,  and  as  free  from  the  disease 
which  corrupted  it  as  Goethe  himself  was  free  from  the 
weakness  of  his  contemporaries.  Wilkes  used  to  say  that  he 
had  never  been  a Wilkite.  Goethe  was  never  a Werther. 
To  appreciate  the  distance  which  separated  him  and  his 
works  from  his  sentimental  contemporaries  and  their  works, 
we  must  study  the  characters  of  such  men  as  Jacobi,  Klinger, 
Wagner,  and  Lenz,  or  we  must  read  such  works  as  Woldemar. 
It  will  then  be  plain  why  Goethe  turned  with  aversion  from 


120 


THL  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iii. 


such  .works,  his  own  included,  when  a few  years  had  cleared 
his  insight,  and  settled  his  aims.  Then  also  will  be  seen  the 
difference  between  genius  which  idealizes  the  spirit  of  the 
age,  and  talent  which  panders  to  it.* 

vv 

It  was,  indeed,  a strange  epoch ; the  unrest  was  the  unrest 
of  disease,  and  its  extravagances  were  morbid  symptoms. 
In  the  letters,  memoirs,  and  novels,  which  still  remain  to 
testify  to  the  follies  of  the  age,  may  be  read  a self-question- 
ing and  sentimental  introspection,  enough  to  create  in  healthy 
minds  a distaste  both  for  sentiment  and  self-questioning.  A 
factitious  air  is  carried  even  by  the  most  respectable  senti- 
ments ; and  many  not  respectable  array  themselves  in  rose- 
pink.  Nature  is  seldom  spoken  of  but  in  hysterical  enthu- 
siasm. Tears  and  caresses  are  prodigally  scattered,  and 
upon  the  slightest  provocations.  In  Coburg  an  Order  of 
Mercy  and  Expiation  is  instituted  by  sensitive  noodles. 
Leuchsenring,  whom  Goethe  satirized  in  Pater  Prey  as  a 
professional  sentimentalist,  gets  up  a secret  society,  and  calls 
it  the  Order  of  Sentiment , to  which  tender  souls  think  it  a 
privilege  to  belong.  Friendship  is  fantastically  deified ; 
brotherly  love  draws  trembling  souls  together,  not  on  the 
solid  grounds  of  affection  and  mutual  service,  but  on  entirely 
imaginary  grounds  of  “ spiritual  communion  ” ; whence  arose, 
as  Jean  Paul  wittily  says,  “ an  universal  love  for  all  men  and 
beasts, — except  reviewers.”  It  was  a sceptical  epoch,  in 
which  everything  established  came  into  question.  Marriage, 
of  course,  came  badly  off  among  a set  of  men  who  made  the 
first  commandment  of  genius  to  consist  in  loving  your  neigh- 
bor a?id  your  neighbor’s  wife. 

These  were  symptoms  of  disease  ; the  social  organization 

* As  Karl  Grim  epigrammatically  says  of  Goethe  and  his  contempo- 
raries, “ he  was  at  once  patient  and  physician,  they  were  patients  and 
nothing  else.” 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


12 1 


1773*] 


was  out  of  order  ; a crisis,  evidently  imminent,  was  heralded 
by  extravagances  in  literature,  as  elsewhere.  The  cause  of 
the  disease  was  want  of  faith.  In  religion,  in  philosophy,  in 
politics,  in  morals,  this  eighteenth  century  was  ostentatious 
of  its  disquiet  and  disbelief.  The  old  faith,  which  for  so 
long  had  made  European  life  an  organic  unity,  and  which  in 
its  tottering  weakness  had  received  a mortal  blow  from  Luther, 
was  no  longer  universal,  living,  active,  dominant ; its  place 
of  universal  directing  power  was  vacant, ' — a new  faith  Jiad'f) 
not  arisen.  The  French  Revolution  was  another  crisis  of 
that  organic  disturbance  which  had  previously  shown  itself  in 
another  order  of  ideas,  — in  the  Reformation.  Beside  this 
awful  crisis,  other  minor  crises  are  noticeable.  Everywhere 
the  same  Protestant  spirit  breaks  through  traditions  in  morals, 
in  literature,  and  in  education.  Whatever  is  established, 
whatever  rests  on  tradition,  is  questioned.  The  classics  are 
no  longer  believed  in  ; men  begin  to  maintain  the  doctrine 
of  progress,  and  proclaim  the  superiority  of  the  moderns. 
Art  is  pronounced  to  be  in  its  nature  progressive.  Educa- 
tion is  no  longer  permitted  to  pursue  its  broad  traditional 
path  ; the  methods  which  were  excellent  for  the  past,  no 
longer  suffice  for  the  present ; everywhere  new  methods  rise 
up  to  ameliorate  the  old.  The  divine  right  of  institutions 
ceases  to  gain  credence.  The  individual  claimed  and  pro- 
claimed his  freedom,  — freedom  of  thought  and  freedom  of 
act.  Ereedom-isL  the  watchword  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  indicate  the  temper  of  those 
times,  and  to  show  why  Werther  was  the  expression  of  that 
temper.  Turning  to  the  novel  itself,  we  find  it  so  bound  up 
with  the  life  of  its  author,  that  the  history  of  his  life  at  this 
epoch  is  the  record  of  the  materials  from  which  it  was 
created  ; we  must,  therefore,  retrace  our  steps  again  to  the 
point  where  Qoethe  left  Wetzlar,  and,  by  the  aid  of  his  let- 


122 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE* S LIFE.  [book  iii. 


ters  to  Kestner,  follow  the  development  of  this  strange 
romance, 

Gotz  was  published  in  the  summer  of  1773.  It  was  in  the 
autumn  of  1772  that  Goethe  left  Wetzlar,  and  returned  home. 
His  letters  to  Kestner  and  Charlotte  are  full  of  passionate 
avowals  and  tender  reminiscences.  The  capricious  orthogra- 
phy and  grammar  to  be  noticed  in  them  belong  to  a period 
when  it  was  thought  unworthy  of  a genius  to  conform  to  de- 
tails so  fastidious  as  correct  spelling  and  good  grammar;  but 
the  affectionate  nature  which  warms'these  letters,  the  abun- 
dant love  the  writer  felt  and  inspired,  these  belong  to  him, 
and  not  to  his  age.  If  a proof  were  wanted  of  Goethe’s  loving 
disposition,  we  might  refer  to  these  letters,  especially  those 
addressed  to  the  young  brother  of  Charlotte.  The  reader  of 
this  Biography,  however,  will  need  no  such  proof,  and  we  may 
therefore  confine  ourselves  to  the  relation  of  Goethe  to  the 
Kestners.  “ God  bless  you,  dear  Kestner,”  runs  one  of  the 
early  letters,  “ and  tell  Lotte  that  I often  believe  I can  forget 
her ; but  then  I have  a relapse,  and  it  is  worse  with  me  than 
ever.”  He  longs  once  more  to  be  sitting  at  her  feet,  letting 
the  children  clamber  over  him.  He  writes  in  a strain  of  mel- 
ancholy, which  is  as  much  poetry  as  sorrow  : when  a thought 
of  suicide  arises,  it  is  only  one  among  the  many  thoughts 
which  hurry  through  his  mind.  There  is  a very  significant 
passage  in  the  Autobiography , which  aptly  describes  his  real 
state  of  mind : “ I had  a large  collection  of  weapons,  and 
among  them  a very  handsome  dagger.  This  I placed  by  my 
bedside  every  night,  and  before  extinguishing  my  candle  I 
made  various  attempts  to  pierce  the  sharp  point  a couple  of 
inches  into  my  breast ; but,  not  being  able  to  do  it,  I 
laughed  myself  out  of  the  notion,  threw  aside  all  hypochon- 
driacal fancies,  and  resolved  to  live.”  He  played  with  sui- 
cidal thoughts,  because  he  was  restless,  and  suicide  was  a fash- 


PREPARA  TIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


123 


1773  ] 

ionable  speculation  of  the  day ; but  whoever  supposes  these 
thoughts  of  suicide  were  serious,  has  greatly  misunderstood 
him.  He  had  them  not,  even  at  this  period  ; and  when  he 
wrote  Werther  he  had  long  thrown  off  even  the  faint  tempta- 
tion of  poetic  longings  for  death.  In  October,  1772,  the  re- 
port reaches  him  that  his  Wetzlar  friend,  Goud,  has  shot  him- 
self : “ Write  to  me  at  once  about  Goue,”  he  says  to  Kestner ; 
“ I honor  such  an  act , and  pity  mankind , and  let  all  the  Phil- 
isters  make  their  tobacco-smoke  comments  on  it  and  say  : 
There,  you  see  ! Nevertheless,  I hope  never  to  make  my* 
friends  unhappy  by  such  an  act  myself.”  He  was  too  full  of 
life  to  do  more  than  coquette  with  the  idea  of  death.  Here 
is  a confession  : “ I went  to  Homburg,  and  there  gained  new 
love  of  life,  seeing  how  much  pleasure  the  appearance  of  a 
miserable  thing  like  me  can  give  such  excellent  people.”  On 
the  7th  of  November  he  suddenly  appeared  in  Wetzlar  with 
Schlosser,  and  stayed  there  till  the  10th,  in  a feverish,  but  de- 
licious, enthusiasm.  He  writes  to  Kestner  on  reaching 
home  : “ It  was  assuredly  high  time  for  me  to  go.  Yesterday 
evening  I had  thoroughly  criminal  thoughts  as  I lay  on  the 

sofa And  when  I think  how  above  all  my  hopes  your 

greeting  of  me  was,  I am  very  calm.  I confess  I came  with 
some  anxiety.  I came  with  a pure,  warm,  full  heart,  dear 
Kestner,  and  it  is  a hell-pain  when  one  is  not  received  in 
the  same  spirit  as  one  brings.  But  so  — God  give  you  a 
whole  life  such  as  those  two  days  were  to  me  ! ” 

The  report  of  Goue’s  suicide,  before  alluded  to,  turned  out 
to  be  false  ; but  the  suicide  of  Jerusalem  was  a melancholy 
fact.  Goethe  immediately  writes  to  Kestner  : — 

“ Unhappy  Jerusalem  ! The  news  was  shocking,  and  unex- 
pected ; it  was  horrible  to  have  this  news  as  an  accompani- 
ment to  the  pleasantest  gift  of  love.  The  unfortunate  man ! 
But  the  devil,  that  is,  the  infamous  men  who  enjoy  nothing 


124 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [rook  hi. 


but  the  chaff  of  vanity,  and  have  the  lust  of  idolatry  in  their 
hearts,  and  preach  idolatry,  and  cramp  healthy  nature,  and 
overstrain  and  ruin  the  faculties,  are  guilty  of  this  misery,  of 
our  misery.  If  the  cursed  parson  is  not  guilty,  God  forgive 
me  that  I wish  he  may  break  his  neck  like  Eli.  The  poor 
young  man  ! When  I came  back  from  a walk,  and  he  met 
me  in  the  moonlight,  I said  to  myself,  he  is  in  love.  Lotte 
must  still  remember  that  I laughed  about  it.  God  knows, 
loneliness  undermined  his  heart,  and  for  seven  years*  his 
form  has  been  familiar  to  me.  I have  talked  little  with  him. 
When  I came  away  I brought  with  me  a book  of  his ; I will 
keep  that  and  the  remembrance  of  him  as  long  as  I live.” 

Among  the  many  inaccuracies  of  the  Autobiography , there 
is  one  of  consequence  on  the  subject  of  Werther,  namely,  the 
assertion  that  it  was  the  news  of  Jerusalem’s  suicide  which 
suddenly  set  him  to  work.  The  news  reached  him  in  Octo- 
ber, 1772,  and  in  November,  Kestner  sent  him  the  narrative 
of  Jerusalem’s  last  days.  Not  until  the  middle  and  end  of 
1773  did  he  write  Werther.  In  fact,  the  state  of  his  mind  at 
this  period  is  by  no  means  such  as  the  Autobiography  de- 
scribes. Read  this  letter,  written  in  December : “ That  is 
wonderful ! I was  about  to  ask  if  Lenchen  f had  arrived, 
and  you  write  to  tell  me  she  is.  If  I were  only  there  I would 
nullify  your  discourse,  and  astonish  all  the  tailors ; I think  I 
should  be  fonder  of  her  than  of  Lotte.  From  the  portrait  she 
must  be  an  amiable  girl,  much  better  than  Lotte,  if  not  pre- 
cisely the  ....  And  I am  free  and  thirsting  for  love.  I must 
try  and  come  ; yet  that  would  not  help  me.  Here  am  I once 
more  in  Frankfurt,  and  carry  plans  and  fancies  about  with 
me,  which  I should  not  do  if  I had  but  a maiden.”  In  Jan- 
uary he  seems  to  have  found  a maiden,  for  he  writes  : “ Tell 

* This  “seven  years  ” refers  to  the  first  sight  of  Jerusalem  at  Leipsic. 

t A sister  of  Charlotte’s. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


125 


I773-J 

Lotte  there  is  a certain  maiden  here  whom  I love  heartily, 
and  whom  I would  choose  before  all  others  if  I had  any 
thought  of  marriage,  and  she  also  was  born  on  the  nth  Jan- 
uary.* It  would  be  pretty:  such  a pair!  Who  knows  what 
God’s  will  is  ? ” I agree  with  Viehoff  against  Diintzer,  that 
this  alludes  to  Anna  Antoinette  Gerock,  a relation  of  Schlos- 
ser’s,  who  is  known  to  have  loved  him  passionately,  and  to 
have  furnished  some  traits  for  Mignon.  Clear  it  is  that  he  is 
not  very  melancholy.  “ Yesterday  I skated  from  sunrise  to 
sunset.  And  I have  other  sources  of  joy  which  I can’t  relate. 
Be  comforted  that  I am  almost  as  happy  as  people  who  love, 
like  you  two,  that  I am  as  full  of  hope,  and  that  I have  lately 
felt  some  poems.  My  sister  greets  you,  my  maiden  also  greets 
you,  my  gods  greet  you.”  Thus  we  see,  that,  although  Lotte’s 
picture  hangs  by  his  bedside,  although  her  image  hovers  con- 
stantly before  him,  and  the  Teutsche  Haus  is  the  centre  of 
many  yearning  thoughts,  he  is  not  pining  despondently  for 
Charlotte.  He  has  rewritten  Gdtzi  and  allowed  Merck  to 
carry  it  to  the  printer’s.  He  is  living  in  a very  merry  circle, 
one  figure  in  which  is  Antoinette  Gerock,  as  we  gather  from 
a letter  written  in  February,  1773,  a month  after  that  in  which 
he  refers  to  his  “ maiden.”  Here  is  the  passage  : “ At  Easter 
I will  send  you  a quite  adventurous  novelty.  My  maiden 
greets  Lotte.  In  character  she  has  much  of  Lenchen,  and 
my  sister  says  resembles  her  portrait.  If  we  were  but  as 
much  in  love  as  you  two  — meanwhile  I will  call  her  my  ‘ dear 
little  wife,’  for  recently  she  fell  to  me  in  a lottery  as  my  wife.” 
And  now  the  day  approaches  when  Lotte  is  to  be  married 
and  leave  Wetzlar.  He  writes  to  her  brother  Hans,  begging 
him,  when  Lotte  departs,  to  write  at  least  once  a week,  that 
the  connection  with  the  Teutsche  Haus  may  not  be  broken,  al- 
though its  jewel  is  carried  away.  He  writes  to  Kestner  to  be 


* Lotte’s  birthday. 


t Gotz. 


126 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


allowed  to  get  the  wedding  ring.  “ I am  wholly  yours,  but 
from  henceforth  care  not  to  see  you  nor  Lotte.  Her  portrait 
too  shall  away  from  my  bedroom  the  day  of  her  marriage,  and 
shall  not  be  restored  till  I hear  she  is  a mother ; and  from 
that  moment  a new  epoch  begins,  in  which  I shall  not  love 
her  but  her  children,  a little  indeed  on  her  account,  but  that’s 
nothing  to  do  with  it  ; and  if  you  ask  me  to  be  godfather,  my 
spirit  shall  rest  upon  the  boy,  and  he  shall  make  a fool  of 
himself  for  a maiden  like  his  mother.”  Enclosed  was  this 
note  to  Lotte  : “ May  my  memory  with  this  ring  forever  re- 
main with  you  in  your  happiness.  Dear  Lotte,  some  time 
hence  we  shall  see  each  other  again,  you  with  this  ring  on 
your  finger,  and  I as  always  thine.  I know  no  name  or  by- 
name to  sign  this  with.  You  know  me.”  When  the  mar- 
riage takes  place  he  writes  to  Kestner : “ God  bless  you  ; you 
have  surprised  me.  I had  meant  to  make  a holy  sepulchre 
on  Good  Friday,  and  bury  Lotte’s  portrait.  But  it  hangs  still 
by  my  bed,  and  shall  remain  there  till  I die.  Be  happy. 
Greet  for  me  your  angel,  and  Lenchen ; she  shall  be  the  sec- 
ond Lotte,  and  it  shall  be  as  well  with  her.  I wander  in  the 
desert  where  no  water  is,  my  hair  is  my  shade,  and  my  blood 
my  spring.”  The  bridesmaid  brings  him  the  bridal  bouquet, 
a flower  of  which  he  sticks  in  his  hat,  as  he  walks  to  Darm- 
stadt, in  a melancholy  mood  ; but  to  show  that  his  passion 
for  Charlotte  was  after  all  only  a poetic  passion,  here  is  a pas- 
sage in  the  letter  he  sent  to  Kestner  immediately  after  the 
marriage : “ O Kestner,  when  have  I envied  you  Lotte  in  the 
human  sense  ? for  not  to  envy  you  her  in  the  spiritual  sense 
I must  be  an  angel  without  lungs  and  liver.  Nevertheless  I 
must  disclose  a secret  to  you.  That  you  may  know  and  be- 
hold. When  I attached  myself  to  Lotte,  and  you  know  that 
I was  attached  to  her  from  my  heart,  Born  talked  to  me  about 
it,  as  people  are  wont  to  talk.  ‘ If  I were  K.,  I should  not 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


2 7 


1 773*] 

like  it.  How  can  it  end  ? You  quite  cut  him  out!  ’ and  the 
like.  Then  I said  to  him  in  these  very  words,  in  his  room,  it 
was  in  the  morning : ‘ The  fact  is,  I am  fool  enough  to  think 
the  girl  something  remarkable  ; if  she  deceived  me,  and  turned 
out  to  be  as  girls  usually  are,  and  used  K.  as  capital  in  order 
to  make  the  most  of  her  charms,  the  first  moment  which  dis- 
covered that  to  me,  the  first  moment  which  brought  her  near- 
er to  me,  would  be  the  last  of  our  acquaintance/  and  this  I 
protested  and  swore.  And  between  ourselves,  without  boast- 
ing, I understand  the  maiden  somewhat,  and  you  know  how 
I have  felt  for  her  and  for  everything  she  has  seen  and 
touched,  and  wherever  she  has  been,  and  shall  continue  to 
feel  to  the  end  of  the  world.  And  now  see  how  far  I am  en- 
vious, and  must  be  so.  For  either  I am  a fool,  which  it  is 
difficult  to  believe,  or  she  is  the  subtlest  deceiver,  or  then, 
Lotte,  the  very  Lotte  of  whom  we  are  speaking.”  A few  days 
afterwards  he  writes  : “ My  poor  existence  is  petrified  to  bar- 
ren rock.  This  summer  I lose  all.  Merck  goes.  My  sister 
too.  And  I am  alone.” 

The  marriage  of  Cornelia,  his  much-loved  sister,  was  to 
him  a very  serious  matter,  and  her  loss  was  not  easily  sup- 
plied. It  came,  too,  at  a time  when  other  losses  pained  him. 
Lotte  was  married,  Merck  was  away,  and  a dear-  friend  had 
just  died.  Nevertheless,  he  seems  to  have  been  active  in 
plans.  Among  them  was  most  probably  that  of  a drama  on 
Mahomet , which  he  erroneously  places  at  a later  period,  after 
the  journeys  with  Lavater  and  Basedow,  but  which  Schafer, 
vemproperly,  restores  to  the  year  1773,  as  Boie’s  Annual 
for  1 7 74  contains  the  Mahomet's  Song.  Goethe  has  narrated 
£n  fullthe  conception  of  this  piece,  which  is  very  grand.  He 
teUs  us  Jh^idea  arose  within  him  of  illustrating  the  sad  fact, 
n(Mhabre  in  the  biographies  of  genius,  that  every  man  who 
attempts  to  realize  a great  idea  comes  in  contact  with  the  low- 


« 


128 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


er  world,  and  must  place  himself  on  its  level  in  order  to  influ- 
ence it,  and  thus  compromises  his  higher  aims,  and  finally  for- 
feits them.  He  chose  Mahomet  as  the  illustration,  never 
having  regarded  him  as  an  impostor.  He  had  carefully 
studied  the  Koran  and  Mahomet’s  life,  in  preparation.  “ The 
piece,”  he  says,  “ opened  with  a hymn  sung  by  Mahomet 
alone  under  the  open  sky.  He  first  adores  the  innumerable 
stars  as  so  many  gods  ; but  as  the  star-god  (Jupiter)  rises,  he 
offers  to  him,  as  the  king  of  the  stars,  exclusive  adoration. 
Soon  after,  the  moon  ascends  the  horizon,  and  claims  the  eye 
and  heart  of  the  worshipper,  who,  refreshed  and  strengthened 
by  the  dawning  sun,  is  afterwards  stimulated  to  new  praises. 
But  these  changes,  however  delightful,  are  still  unsatisfactory, 
and  the  mind  feels  that  it  must  rise  still  higher,  and  mounts 
therefore  to  God,  the  One  Eternal,  Infinite,  to  whom  all  these 
splendid  but  finite  creatures  owe  their  existence.  I com- 
posed this  hymn  with  great  delight ; it  is  now  lost,  but  might 
easily  be  restored  as  a cantata,  and  is  adapted  for  music  by 
the  variety  of  its  expression.  It  would,  however,  be  neces- 
sary to  imagine  it  sung  according  to  the  original  plan,  by 
the  leader  of  a caravan  with  his  family  and  tribe  ; and  thus 
the  alternation  of  the  voices  and  the  strength  of  the  chorus 
would  be  secured. 

“Mahomet  converted,  imparts  these  feelings  and  senti- 
ments to  his  friends : his  wife  and  Ali  become  unconditional 
disciples.  In  the  second  act,  he  attempts  to  propagate  this 
faith  in  the  tribe  ; Ali  still  more  zealously.  Assent  and  op- 
position display  themselves  according  to  the  variety  of  char^ 
acter.  The  contest  begins,  the  strife  becomes  violent,  and 
Mahomet  flies.  In  the  third  act,  he  defeats  his  enemies, 
makes  his  religion  the  public  one,  and  purifies  the  Kaaba 
from  idols;  but  this  being  impracticable  by  force,  fie'1  is 
obliged  to  resort  to  cunning.  What  in  his  character  is  earthly 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


129 


1774-1 

increases  and  develops  itself;  the  divine  retires  and  is  obscured. 
In  the  fourth  act,  Mahomet  pursues  his  conquests,  his  doctrine 
becomes  a mea?is  rather  than  an  end , all  kinds  of  practices 
are  employed,  nor  are  horrors  wanting.  A woman,  whose 
husband  has  been  condemed  by  Mahomet,  poisons  him.  In 
the  fifth  act,  he  feels  that  he  is  poisoned.  His  great  calm- 
ness, the  return  to  himself  and  to  his  better  nature,  make  him 
worthy  of  admiration.  He  purifies  his  doctrine,  establishes 
his  kingdom,  and  dies.  K 

“ This  sketch  long  occupied  my  mind  ; for,  according  to  my 
custom,  I was  obliged  to  let  the  conception  perfect  itself  be- 
fore I commenced  the  execution.  All  that  genius,  through 
character  and  intellect,  can  exercise  over  mankind,  was  there- 
in to  be  represented,  and  what  it  gains  and  loses  in  the  pro- 
cess. Several  of  the  songs  to  be  introduced  in  the  drama 
were  rapidly  composed  ; the  only  one  remaining  of  them,  how- 
ever, is  the  Mahomet's  Gesa?ig . This  was  to  be  sung  by  Ali, 
in  honor  of  his  master,  at  the  apex  of  his  success,  just  before 
the  change  resulting  from  the  poison.”  Of  all  his  unrealized 
schemes,  this  causes  me  the  greatest  regret.  In  grandeur, 
depth,  and  in  the  opportunities  for  subtle  psychological  un- 
ravelment  of  the  mysteries  of  our  nature,  it  was  a scheme  pe- 
culiarly suited  to  his  genius.  How  many  Clavigos  and  Stellas 
would  one  not  have  given  for  such  a poem  ? 

The  satirical  farce,  Gotten , Helden  und  Wieland , is  alluded 
to  in  this  passage  of  a letter  to  Kestner,  May,  1774,  and  must 
therefore  have  been  written  some  time  before  : “ My  rough 
joke  against  Wieland  makes  more  noise  than  I thought.  He 
behaves  very  well  in  the  matter,  as  I hear,  so  that  I am  in 
the  wrong.”  The  origin  of  this  farce  was  a strong  feeling  in 
the  circle  of  Goethe’s  friends,  that  Wieland  had  modernized, 
misrepresented,  and  traduced  the  Grecian  gods  and  heroes. 
One  Sunday  afternoon  “the  rage  for  dramatizing  everything” 
6*  1 


130  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 

seized  him,  and  with  a bottle  of  Burgundy  by  his  side  he 
wrote  off  the  piece  just  as  it  stands.  The  friends  were  in 
raptures  with  it.  He  sent  it  to  Lenz,  then  at  Strasburg,  who 
insisted  on  its  at  once  being  printed.  After  some  demurring, 
consent  was  given,  and  at  Strasburg  the  work  saw  the  light. 
In  reading  it,  the  public,  unacquainted  with  the  circumstances 
and  the  mood  to  which  it  owed  its  origin,  unacquainted  also 
with  the  fact  of  its  never  having  been  designed  for  publica- 
tion, felt  somewhat  scandalized  at  its  fierceness  of  sarcasm. 
But  in  truth  there  was  no  malice  in  it.  Flushed  with  the  in- 
solence and  pride  of  wit,  he  attacked  a poet  whom,  on  the 
whole,  he  greatly  loved.  Wieland  took  no  offence  at  it,  but 
reviewed  it  in  the  Teutsche  Mercnr , recommending  it  to  all 
lovers  of  pasquinade,  persiflage , and  sarcastic  wit.  This  re- 
minds one  of  Socrates  standing  up  in  the  theatre,  when  he 
was  lampooned  by  Aristophanes,  that  the  spectators  might 
behold  the  original  of  the  sophist  they  were  hooting  on  the 
stage.  Gotter,  Helden  und  Wieland  is  really  amusing,  and 
under  the  mask  of  its  buffoonery  contains  some  sound  and 
acute  criticism.*  The  peculiarity  of  it,  however,  consists  in 
its  attacking  Wieland  for  treating  heroes  unheroically,  at  a 
time  when,  from  various  parts  of  Germany,  loud  voices  were 
raised  against  Wieland  as  an  immoral,  an  unchristian,  nay, 
even  an  atheistical  writer.  Lavater  called  upon  Christians  to 
pray  for  this  sinner ; theologians  forbade  their  followers  to 
read  his  works ; pulpits  were  loud  against  him.  In  1773  the 
whole  Klopstock  school  rose  against  him  t in  moral  indigna- 
tion, and  burned  his  works  on  Klopstock’s  birthday.  Very 
different  was  Goethe’s  ire.  He  saw  that  the  gods  and  heroes 
were  represented  in  peruques  and  satin  breeches,  that  their 

* It  called  forth  a retort,  Thiere , Menschen  und  Goethe ; which  has 
not  fallen  in  my  way.  Critics  speak  of  it  as  personal,  but  worthless. 

t Gervinus , IV.  p.  285. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


1774-1 


131 


cheeks  were  rouged,  their  thews  and  sinews  shrunk  to  those  of 
a petit-maitre ; and  against  such  a conception  of  the  old  Pa- 
gan life  he  raised  his  voice. 

On  the  nth  February,  Knebel  paid  him  a visit,  and  in- 
formed him  that  the  two  princes,  Karl  August  and  Constan- 
tine, were  desirous  of  seeing  him.  He  went,  and  was  received 
with  flattering  kindness,  especially  by  Karl  August,  who  had 
just  read  Gotz.  He  dined  with  his  royal  hosts  in  a quiet 
way,  and  left  them,  having  received  and  produced  an  agree- 
able impression.  They  were  going  to  Mainz,  whither  he 
promised  to  follow  them.  His  father,  like  a sturdy  old 
burgher  who  held  aloof  from  princes,  shook  his  sceptical 
head  at  the  idea  of  this  visit.  To  Mainz,  however,  the  poet 
went  a day  or  two  afterwards,  and  spent  several  days  with 
the  young  princes,  as  their  guest.  This  was  his  first  contact 
with  men  of  high  rank. 

In  the  following  May  he  hears  with  joy  that  Lotte  is  a 
mother,  and  that  her  boy  is  to  be  called  Wolfgang,  after  him  ; 
and  on  the  16th  of  June  he  writes  to  Lotte:  “I  will  soon 
send  you  a friend  who  has  much  resemblance  to  me,  and 
hope  you  will  receive  him  well  ; he  is  named  Werther,  and  is 
and  was  — but  that  he  must  himself  explain.” 

Whoever  has  followed  the  history  thus  far,  moving  on  the 
secure  ground  of  contemporary  documents,  will  see  how 
vague  and  inaccurate  is  the  account  of  the  composition  of 
Werther  given  by  its  author,  in  his  retrospective  narrative. 
It  was  not  originated  by  growing  despair  at  the  loss  of  Char- 
lotte. It  was  not  originated  by  tormenting  thoughts  of  self- 
destruction.  It  was  not  to  free  himself  from  suicide  that  he 
wrote  this  story  of  suicide.  All  these  several  threads  were 
indeed  woven  into  its  woof ; but  the  rigor  of  dates  forces  us 
to  the  conviction  that  Werther,  although  taken  from  his  ex- 
perience, was  not  written  while  that  experience  was  being 


132 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


undergone.  Indeed,  the  true  philosophy  of  art  would,  a 
priori , lead  us  to  the  conviction  that,  although  he  cleared  his 
“ bosom  of  the  perilous  stuff”  by  moulding  this  perilous 
stuff  into  a work  of  art,  he  must  have  essentially  outlived  the 
storm  before  he  painted  it,  — conquered  his  passion,  and 
subdued  the  rebellious  thoughts,  before  he  made  them  plastic 
to  his  purpose.  The  poet  cannot  see  to  write  when  his  eyes 
are  full  of  tears  ; cannot  sing  when  his  breast  is  swollen  with 
sighs,  and  sobs  choke  utterance.  He  must  rise  superior  to 
his  grief  before  he  can  sublimate  his  grief  in  song.  The 
artist  is  a master,  not  a slave  ; he  wields  his  passion,  he  is 
not  hurried  along  by  it ; he  possesses,  and  is  not  possessed. 
Art  enshrines  the  great  sadness  of  the  world,  but  is  itself  not 
sad.  The  storm  of  passion  weeps  itself  away,  and  the  heavy 
clouds  roll  off  in  quiet  masses,  to  make  room  for  the  sun, 
which,  in  shining  through,  touches  them  to  beauty  with  its 
rays.  While  pain  is  in  its  newness,  it  is  pain,  and  nothing 
else ; it  is  not  Art,  but  Feeling.  Goethe  could  not  write 
Werther  before  he  had  outlived  Wertherism.  It  may  have 
been,  as  he  says,  a “ general  confession,”  and  a confession 
which  brought  him  certain  relief ; but  we  do  not  confess  until 
we  have  repented,  and  we  do  not  repent  until  we  have  out- 
lived the  error. 

Werther  was  written  rapidly.  “ I completely  isolated  my- 
self,” he  says  ; “nay,  prohibited 'the  visits  of  my  friends,  and 
put  aside  everything  that  did  not  immediately  belong  to  the 
subject.  Under  such  circumstances,  and  under  so  many 
preparations  in  secret,  I wrote  it  in  four  weeks,  without  any 
scheme  of  the  whole,  or  treatment  of  any  part  being  pre- 
viously put  on  paper.”  It  is  of  this  seclusion  Merck  writes  : 
“ Le  grand  succhs  que  son  drame  a eu  lui  tourne  un  peu  la 
tete.  11  se  detache  de  tous  ses  amis,  et  n’existe  que  dans  les 
compositions  qu’il  prepare  pour  le  public.” 


774] 


PREPARA  TIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


133 


It  is  a matter  of  some  interest  to  ascertain  the  exact  truth 
respecting  the  date  of  the  composition  of  Werther.  As  before 
stated,  his  own  account  is  manifestly  inaccurate ; and  the 
only  thing  which  renders  it  difficult  to  assign  the  dates  with 
tolerable  precision,  is  his  statement  that  it  was  written  in  four 
weeks,  without  any  scheme  of  the  whole  or  treatment  of  any 
part  having  been  previously  put  on  paper.  If  we  consent  to 
believe  that  his  memory  in  this  case  deceived  him,  the  corre- 
spondence of  the  period  furnishes  hints  from  which  we  may 
conclude  that  in  1772,  on  the  arrival  of  the  news  about  Jeru- 
salem’s suicide,  he  made  a general  sketch,  either  in  his  mind 
or  on  paper ; and  that  during  the  following  year  he  worked 
at  it  from  time  to  time.  In  June,  1773,  he  writes  to  Kestner  : 
“ And  thus  I dream  and  ramble  through  life,  writing  plays 
and  novels , and  the  like.”  In  July  he  writes  : “ I am  working 
my  own  situation  into  art  for  the  consolation  of  gods  and 
men.  I know  what.  Lotte  will  say  when  she  sees  it,  and  I 
know  what  I shall  answer  her.”  The  word  in  the  original  is 
Schauspiel , — play,  drama  ; Viehoff  suggests  that  he  does  not 
mean  drama,  but  a work  which  will  bring  his  situation  zur 
Sehau, — before  the  public  eye.  In  September  of  the  same 
year  he  writes:  “You  are  always  by  me  when  I write.  At 
present  I am  working  at  a novel,  but  it  gets  on  slowly.”  In 
November,  Frau  Jacobi  writes  to  him,  acknowledging  the  re- 
ceipt of  a novel,  in  manuscript,  no  doubt,  which  delights  her. 
In  February,  1774,  Merck  writes  of  him  : “ Je  prevois  qu’un 
roman,  qui  paraitra  de  lui  a paques,  sera  aussi  bien  re^u  que 
son  drame.”  As  we  have  nowhere  a hint  of  any  other  novel 
besides  W r rther  at  this  epoch,  it  is  difficult  to  resist  the  evi- 
dence of  these  dates ; and  we  must,  therefore,  conclude  that 
the  assertion  in  the  Autobiography  is  wholly  inexact. 

In  September,  1774,  he  wrote  to  Lotte,  sending  her  a copy 
of  Werther : “ Lotte,  how  dear  this  little  book  is  to  me  thou 


134 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iii. 


wilt  feel  in  reading  it,  and  this  copy  is  as  dear  to  me  as  if  it 
were  the  only  one  in  the  world.  Thou  must  have  it,  Lotte  ; 
I have  kissed  it  a hundred  times ; have  kept  it  locked  up 
that  no  one  might  touch  it.  O,  Lotte  ! And  I beg  thee  let 
no  one  except  Meyers  see  it  yet ; it  will  be  published  at  the 
Leipsic  fair.  I wish  each  to  read  it  alone,  — thou  alone, 
Kestner  alone,  — and  each  to  write  me  a little  word  about  it. 
Lotte,  adieu,  Lotte  ! ” 

While  the  public  was  reading  the  tragic  story  of  Weriher 
through  fast-flowing  tears,  a painful  sense  of  indignation  rose 
in  the  breasts  of  Kestner  and  Charlotte  at  seeing  themselves 
thus  dragged  into  publicity,  their  story  falsified.  The  narra- 
tive was  in  many  respects  too  close  to  reality  not  to  be  very 
offensive  in  its  deviations  from  reality.  The  figures  were  un~ 
mistakable  ; and  yet  they  were  not  the  real  figures.  The 
eager  public  soon  found  out  who  were  the  principal  person- 
ages, and  that  a real  history  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  ro- 
mance ; but  as  the  whole  truth  could  not  be  known,  the 
Kestners  found  themselves  in  a very  false  light.  They  were 
hurt  by  this  indiscretion  of  their  friend  ; more  hurt  perhaps 
than  they  chose  to  confess ; and  we  may  read,  in  the  follow- 
ing fragment  of  the  sketch  of  the  letter  sent  by  Kestner  on 
receipt  of  the  books,  the  accents  of  an  offended  friend  whose 
pride  restrains  the  full  expression  of  his  anger : — 

“ Your  Werther  might  have  given  me  great  pleasure,  since 
it  could  have  reminded  me  of  many  interesting  scenes  and 
incidents.  But  as  it  is,  it  has  in  certain  respects  given  me 
little  edification.  You  know  I like  to  speak  my  mind. 

“ It  is  true,  you  have  woven  something  new  into  each  per- 
son, or  have  fused  several  persons  into  one.  So  far  good. 
But  if  in  this  interweaving  and  fusing  you  had  taken  counsel 
of  your  heart,  you  would  not  have  so  prostituted  the  real  per- 
sons whose  features  you  borrow.  You  wished  to  draw  from 


1774]  PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER.  135 

Nature,  that  your  picture  might  be  truthful ; and  yet  you  have 
combined  so  much  that  is  contradictory,  that  you  have  missed 
the  very  mark  at  which  you  aimed.  The  distinguished  author 
will  revolt  against  this  judgment,  but  I appeal  to  reality  and 
truth  itself  when  I pronounce  that  the  artist  has  failed.  The 
real  Lotte  would  in  many  instances  be  grieved  if  she  were  like 
the  Lotte  you  have  there  painted.  I know  well  that  it  is  said  to 
be  a character  compounded  of  two,  but  the  Mrs.  H.  whom  you 
have  partly  inwoven  was  also  incapable  of  what  you  attribute  to 
your  heroine.  But  this  expenditure  of  fiction  was  not  at  all 
necessary  to  your  end,  to  nature  and  truth,  for  it  was  without 
any  such  behavior  on  the  part  of  a woman  — a behavior 
which  must  ever  be  dishonorable  even  to  a more  than  ordi- 
nary woman  — that  Jerusalem  shot  himself. 

“ The  real  Lotte,  whose  friend  you  nevertheless  wish  to  be, 
is  in  your  picture,  which  contains  too  much  of  her  not  to  sug- 
gest her  strongly : is,  I say  — but  no,  I will  not  say  it,  it  pains 
me  already  too  much  only  to  think  it.  And  Lotte’s  hus- 
band — you  called  him  your  friend,  and  God  knows  that  he 
was  so  — is  with  her. 

“ The  miserable  creature  of  an  Albert ! In  spite  of  its  be- 
ing an  alleged  fancy  picture  and  not  a portrait,  it  also  has  such 
traits  of  an  original  (only  external  traits,  it  is  true,  thank  God, 
only  external),  that  it  is  easy  to  guess  the  real  person.  And 
if  you  wanted  to  have  him  act  so,  need  you  have  made  him 
such  a blockhead  ? that  forthwith  you  might  step  forward  and 
say,  see  what  a fine  fellow  I am  ! ” 

Kestner  here  touches  on  a point  of  morality  in  literature 
worth  consideration.  While  emphatically  declaring  that  the 
artist  must  take  his  materials  from  reality,  must  employ  his 
own  experience,  and  draw  from  the  characters  he  has  really 
known,  I must  emphatically  declare  that  he  is  bound  as  a 
creative  artist  to  resist  the  temptation  to  be  a mere  chronicler : 


136 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iii. 


he  is  bound  to  reproduce  the  materials  uifder  new  forms,  not 
only  under  forms  sufficiently  different  from  the  reality  to  pre- 
vent the  public  reading  actual  histories  beneath  his  invention, 
to  prevent  their  recognizing  the  persons  he  has  employed  as 
lay  figures,  whenever  those  persons  are  assigned  parts  which 
they  would  reject,  but  also  to  present  the  materials  under 
forms  which,  while  preserving  the  symbolism  of  events,  and 
retelling  the  old  story,  do  nevertheless  make  the  old  story  a 
new  one,  by  the  peculiarity  and  novelty  of  the  conditions  and 
characters..  That  is  just  the  distinction  between  an  artist  and 
an  historian.  There  is,  of  course,  great  difficulty  in  keeping 
to  truth  while  avoiding  the  betrayal  of  actual  occurrences ; 
but  it  is  a difficulty  which  is  commanded  by  Art  not  less  than 
by  Morality. 

Goethe  was  evidently  astounded  at  the  effect  his  book  had 
produced  on  his  friends  : “ I must  at  once  write  to  you,  my 
dear  and  angry  friends,  and  free  my  heart.  The  thing  is 
done  ; the  book  is  out ; forgive  me  if  you  can.  I will  hear 
nothing  till  the  event  has  proved  how  exaggerated  your  anxi- 
ety is,  and  till  you  have  more  truly  felt,  in  the  book  itself,  the 
innocent  mingling  of  fiction  and  truth.  Thou  hast,  dear  Kest- 
ner,  exhausted  everything,  cut  away  all  the  ground  of  my  ex- 
cuse, and  left  me  nothing  to  say  ; yet  I know  not,  my  heart 
has  still  more  to  say,  although  I cannot  express  it.  I am  si- 
lent, but  the  sweet  presentiment  I must  still  retain,  and  I hope 
eternal  Fate  has  that  in  store  for  me  which  will  bind  us  yet 
closer  one  to  the  other.  Yes,  dear  ones,  I,  who  am  so  bound 
to  you  by  love,  must  still  remain  debtor  to  you  and  your  chil- 
dren for  the  uncomfortable  hours  which  my  — name  it  as  you 

will  — has  given  you And  now,  my  dear  ones,  when 

anger  rises  within  you,  think,  oh  think  only  that  your  old 
Goethe,  ever  and  ever,  and  now  more  than  ever,  is  your 
own.” 


774] 


PREPARATION'S  FOR  WERTHER. 


137 


Their  anger  fell.  They  saw  that  he  had  committed  an  in- 
discretion, but  had  done  no  more.  They  wrote  forgiveness, 
as  we  gather  from  this  letter  Goethe  sent  on  the  21st  of  No- 
vember : — 

“ Here  I have  thy  letter,  Kestner ! On  a strange  desk,  in 
a painter’s  studio,  for  yesterday  I began  to  paint  in  oil,  I have  thy 
letter,  and  must  give  thee  my  thanks  ! Thanks,  dear  friend  ! 
Thou  art  ever  the  same  good  soul ! O that  I could  spring 
on  thy  neck,  throw  myself  at  Lotte’s  feet,  one,  one  minute, 
and  all,  all  that  should  be  done  away  with,  explained,  which  I 
could  not  make  clear  with  quires  of  paper  ! O ye  unbeliev- 
ing ones  ! I could  exclaim.  Ye  of  little  faith ! Could  you 
feel  the  thousandth  part  of  what  Werther  is  to  a thousand 
hearts,  you  would  not  reckon  the  sacrifice  you  have  made  to- 
wards it ! Here  is  a letter,  read  it,  and  send  me  word  quickly 
what  thou  thinkest  of  it,  what  impression  it  makes  on  thee. 
Thou  sendest  me  Hennings’s  letter;  he  does  not  condemn 
me : he  excuses  me.  Dear  brother  Kestner ! if  you  will 
wait,  you  shall  be  contented.  I would  not,  to  save  my  own 
life,  call  back  Werther,  and  believe  me,  believe  in  me,  thy 
anxieties,  thy  gravamina , will  vanish  like  phantoms  of  the 
night  if  thou  hast  patience  ; and  then,  between  this  and  a 
year,  I promise  you  in  the  most  affectionate,  peculiar,  fervent 
manner,  to  disperse,  as  if  it  were  a mere  north-wind  fog  and 
mist,  whatever  may  remain  of  .suspicion,  misinterpretation, 
etc.,  in  the  gossiping  public,  though  it  is  a herd  of  swine. 
Werther  must  — must  be!  You  do  not  feel  him,  you  only 
feel  me  and  yourselves ; and  that  which  you  call  stuck  on,  and 
in  spite  of  you,  and  others,  is  interwoven.  If  I live,  it  is  thee 
I have  to  thank  for  it ; thus  thou  art  not  Albert.  And 
thus  — 

“Give  Lotte  a warm  greeting  for  me,  and  say  to  her  : ‘To 
know  that  your  name  is  uttered  by  a thousand  hallowed  lips 


138 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


with  reverence,  is  surely  an  equivalent  for  anxieties  which  would 
scarcely,  apart  from  anything  else,  vex  a person  long  in  com- 
mon life,  where  one  is  at  the  mercy  of  every  tattler.’ 

“ If  you  are  generous  and  do  not  worry  me,  I will  send 
you  letters,  cries,  sighs  after  Werther,  and  if  you  have  faith, 
believe  that  all  will  be  well,  and  gossip  is  nothing,  and  weigh 
well  your  philosopher’s  letter,  which  I have  kissed. 

“ O then  ! — hast  not  felt  how  the  man  embraces  thee,  con- 
soles thee,  and  in  thy  — in  Lotte’s  worth,  finds  consolation 
enough  under  the  wretchedness  which  has  terrified  you  even 
in  the  fiction  ? Lotte,  farewell,  — Kestner,  love  me  and  do 
not  worry  me.” 

The  pride  of  the  author  in  his  darling  breaks  out  in  this 
letter,  now  his  friends  have  forgiven  him.  We  must  admit  that 
Kestner  had  reason  to  be  annoyed  : the  more  so  as  his  friends, 
identifying  him  with  the  story,  wrote  sympathetically  about 
it.  He  had  to  reply  to  Hennings  on  the  subject,  and  in  tell- 
ing him  the  true  story,  begged  him  to  correct  the  false  re- 
ports. He  says:  “In  the  first  part  of  Werther,  Werther  is 
Goethe  himself.  In  Lotte  and  Albert  he  has  borrowed 
traits  from  us,  my  wife  and  myself.  Many  of  the  scenes  are 
quite  true,  and  yet  partly  altered  ; others  are,  at  least  in  our 
history,  unreal.  For  the  sake  of  the  second  part,  and  in  or- 
der to  prepare  for  the  death  of  Werther,  he  has  introduced 
various  things  into  the  first  part  which  do  not  at  all  belong  to 
us.  For  example,  Lotte  has  never  either  with  Goethe  or 
with  any  one  else  stood  in  the  intimate  relation  which  is  there 
described  ; in  this  we  have  certainly  great  reason  to  be  offend- 
ed with  him,  for  several  accessory  circumstances  are  too 
true  and  too  well  known  for  people  not  to  point  to  us.  He 
regrets  it  now,  but  of  what  use  is  that  to  us  ? It  is  true  he 
has  a great  regard  for  my  wife  ; but  he  ought  to  have  depicted 
her  more  faithfully  in  this  point,  that  she  was  too  wise  and 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  WERTHER. 


139 


1 774-] 

delicate  ever  to  let  him  go  so  far  as  is  represented  in  the  first 
part  She  behaved  to  him  in  such  way  as  to  make  her  far 
dearer  to  me  than  before,  if  this  had  been  possible.  More- 
over, our  engagement  was  never  made  public,  though  not,  it  is 
true,  kept  a secret : still  she  was  too  bashful  ever  to  confess  it 
to  any  one.  And  there  was  no  engagement  between  us  but 
that  of  hearts.  It  was  not  till  shortly  before  my  departure 
(when  Goethe  had  already  been  a year  away  from  Wetzlar  at 
Frankfurt,  and  the  disguised  Werther  had  been  dead  half  a 
year)  that  we  were  married.  After  the  lapse  of  a year,  since 
our  residence  here,  we  have  become  father  and  mother.  The 
dear  boy  lives  still,  and  gives  us,  thank  God,  much  joy.  For 
the  rest,  there  is  in  Werther  much  of  Goethe’s  character  and 
manner  of  thinking.  Lotte’s  portrait  is  completely  that  of 
my  wife.  Albert  might  have  been  made  a little  more  ardent. 
The  second  part  of  Werther  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 

us When  Goethe  had  printed  his  book,  he  sent  us  an 

early  copy,  and  thought  we  should  fall  into  raptures  with 
what  he  had  done.  But  we  at  once  saw  what  would  be  the 
effect,  and  your  letter  confirms  our  fears.  I wrote  very  an- 
grily to  him.  He  then  for  the  first  time  saw  what  he  had 
done ; but  the  book  was  printed,  and  he  hoped  our  fears  were 
idle.”  In  another  letter  to  the  same,  Kestner  says  : “ You 
have  no  idea  what  a man  he  is.  But  when  his  great  fire  has 
somewhat  burnt  itself  out,  then  we  shall  all  have  the  greatest 
joy  in  him.” 


140 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [book  iii. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  LITERARY  LION. 

Goethe  was  now  at  the  perilous  juncture  in  an  author’s 
career,  when,  having  just  achieved  a splendid  success,  he  is  in 
danger  either  of  again  snatching  at  laurels  in  presumptuous 
haste,  or  of  suffering  himself  to  repose  upon  the  laurels  he  has- 
won,  talking  of  greatness  instead  of  learning  to  be  great.  Both 
perils  he  avoided.  He  neither  traded  on  his  renown,  nor  con- 
ceived that  his  education  was  complete.  Wisely  refraining 
from  completing  fresh  important  works,  he  kept  up  the  prac- 
tice of  his  art  by  trifles,  and  the  education  of  his  genius  by 
serious  studies.  Among  these  trifles  are  Clavigo , the  Jahr- 
1 marktsfest  zu  Plunder sweilen,  and  the  Prolog  zu  Bahrdfs 
Neuesten  Offenbar ungen. 

He  was  beginning  to  feel  himself  a man  of  consequence ; 
the  notable  men  of  the  day  eagerly  sought  his  acquaintance. 
Among  these  men  we  must  note  Klopstock,  Lavater,  Base- 
V dow,  Jacobi,  and  the  Stolbergs.  Correspondence  led  to  per- 
sonal intercourse.  Klopstock  arrived  in  Frankfurt  in  this 
October,  1774,  just  before  Werther  appeared.  Goethe  saw 
him,  read  the  fragments  of  Faust  to  him,  and  discussed  skat- 
ing with  him.  But  the  great  religious  poet  was  too  far  re- 
moved from  the  strivings  of  his  young  rival  to  conceive  that 
attachment  for  him  which  he  felt  for  men  like  the  Stolbergs, 
or  to  inspire  Goethe  with  any  keen  sympathy. 

In  June,  Lavater  also  came  to  Frankfurt.  This  was  a few 
months  before  Klopstock’s  visit.  He  had  commenced  a cor- 
respondence with  Goethe  on  the  occasion  of  the  Briefe  des 
Pastors.  Those  were  great  days  of  correspondence.  Letters 
were  written  to  be  read  in  circles,  and  were  shown  about  like 


1774-1 


THE  LITERARY  LION. 


141 

the  last  new  poem.  Lavater  pestered  his  friends  for  their 
portraits,  and  for  ideal  portraits  (according  to  their  concep- 
tion) of  our  Saviour,  all  of  which  were  destined  for  the  work 

N 

on  Physiognomy  on  which  he  was  then  engaged.  The  artist 
who  took  Goethe’s  portrait  sent  Lavater  the  portrait  of  Bahrdt 
instead,  to  see  what  he  would  make  of  it ; the  physiognomist 
was  not  taken  in  ; he  stoutly  denied  the  possibility  of  such  a 
resemblance.  Yet  when  he  saw  the  actual  Goethe  he  was  not 
satisfied.  He  gazed  in  astonishment,  exclaiming,  “ Art  thou 
he ? ” “I  am  he,”  was  the  answer ; and  the  two  embraced 
each  other.  Still  the  physiognomist  was  dissatisfied.  “ I an- 
swered him  with  my  native  and  acquired  realism,  that  as  God 
had  willed  to  make  me  what  I was,  he,  Lavater,  must  even 
so  accept  me.” 

The  first  surprise  over,  they  began  to  converse  on  the 
weightiest  topics.  Their  sympathy  was  much  greater  than 
appears  in  Goethe’s  narrative,  written  many  years  after  the 
characters  of  both  had  developed  themselves. 

So  strong  was  the  attraction  of  Lavater’s  society  that 
Goethe  accompanied  him  to  Ems.  The  journey  was  charm- 
ing ; beautiful  summer  weather  and  Lavater’s  cheerful  gayety 
formed  pleasant  accompaniments  to  their  religious  discussions. 
On  returning  to  Frankfurt,  another  and  very  different  celebri- 
ty was  there  to  distract  his  attention,  — Basedow,  the  educa- 
tion reformer.  No  greater  contrast  to  Lavater  could  have 
been  picked  out  of  the  celebrities  of  that  day.  Lavater  was 
handsome,  clean,  cheerful,  flattering,  insinuating,  devout ; 
Basedow  ugly,  dirty  among  the  dirty,  sarcastic,  domineering, 
and  aggressively  heterodox.  One  tried  to  restore  Apostolic 
Christianity ; the  other  could  not  restrain  the  most  insolent 
sarcasms  on  the  Bible,  the  Trinity,  and  every  form  of  Chris- 
tian creed.  One  set  up  as  a Prophet,  the  other  as  a Peda- 
gogue. 


142 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  in. 


Basedow  (born  1723)  was  also  early  in  indicating  his  future 
part.  At  school  the  wild  and  dirty  boy  manifested  rebellious 
energy  against  all  system  and  all  method ; studied  in  a desul- 
tory, omnivorous  manner,  as  if  to  fit  himself  for  everything ; 
ran  away  from  home,  and  became  a lackey  in  a nobleman's 
house  ; caught  up  Rousseau’s  doctrine  about  a state  of  Na- 
ture, which  he  applied  to  Education  ; wrote  endless  works,  or 
rather  incessant  repetitions  of  one  work ; shouted  with  such 
lusty  lungs  that  men  could  not  but  hear  him  ; appealed  to  the 
nation  for  support  in  his  philanthropic  schemes ; collected  “ a 
rent  ” from  philanthropists  and  dupes ; attacked  established 
institutions,  and  parenthetically  all  Christian  tenets;  and 
proved  himself  a man  of  restless  energy,  and  of  vast  and  com- 
prehensive ignorance.  He  made  considerable  noise  in  the 
world;  and  in  private . lived  somewhat  the  life  of  a restless 
hog  who  has  taken  to  philanthropy  and  free  thinking.  ' 

Much  as  such  a character  was  opposed  to  his.  o.wp,  Goethe, 
eager  and  inquiring,  felt  an  attraction  towards  it,  as  towards 
a character  to  study.  Like  many  other  studies,  this  had  its 
drawbacks.  He  was  forced  to  endure  the  incessant  smoking 
and  incessant  sarcasms  of  the  dirty  educationist.  The  stench 
he  endured  with  firmness  ; the  anti-Christian  tirades  he  an- 
swered with  paradoxes  wilder  than  any  he  opposed.  “ Such 
a splendid  opportunity  of  exercising,  if  not  of  elevating,  my 
mind,”  he  says,  “ was  not  to  be  thrown  away ; so  prevailing 
on  my  father  and  friends  to  undertake  my  law  business,  I 
once  more  set  off  for  the  Rhine  in  Basedow’s  company.” 
Basedow  filled  the  carriage  with  smoke,  and  killed  the  time 
with  discussions.  On  the  way  they  fell  in  with  Lavater,  and 
the  three  visited  several  chateaux,  especially  those  of  noble 
ladies,  everywhere  anxious  to  receive  the  literary  Lions. 
Goethe,  we  may  parenthetically  note,  is  in  error  when  he  says 
that  he  was  on  this  voyage  greatly  pestered  by  the  women 


1 774-1 


THE  LITERARY  LION. 


143 


wanting  to  know  all  about  the  truth  of  Werther ; the  fact  be- 
ing  that  Werther  did  not  appear  until  the  following  October  ; 
for  although  the  exigencies  of  my  narrative  have  caused  a cer- 
tain anticipation  in  chronology,  this  journey  with  Lavater  and 
Basedow,  here  made  to  follow  the  publication  of  Werther , 
came  before  it  in  Goethe’s  life.  If  we  are  not  to  believe  that 
the  women  crowded  around  him  with  questions  about  Lotte,  we 
can  readily  believe  that  children  crowded  round  him,  beg- 
ging him  to  tell  them  stories. 

Wild  and  “ genius-like  ” was  his  demeanor.  “ Basedow 
and  I,”  he  says,  “ seemed  to  be  ambitious  of  proving  who 
could  behave  the  most  outrageously.”  Very  characteristic  is 
the  glimpse  we  catch  of  him  quitting  the  ball-room,  after  a 
heating  dance,  and  rushing  up  to  Basedow's  room.  The  Phi- 
lanthropist did  not  go  to  bed.  He  threw  himself  in  his 
clothes  upon  the  bed,  and  there,  in  a room  full  of  tobacco- 
smoke  and  bad  air,  dictated  to  his  scribe.  When  fatigue 
overcame  him,  he  slept  awhile,  his  scribe  remaining  there,  pen 
in  hand,  awaiting  the  awakening  of  the  Philanthropist,  who, 
on  opening  his  eyes,  at  once  resumed  the  flow  of  his  dicta- 
tion. Into  such  a room  sprang  the  dance-heated  youth,  be- 
gan a fierce  discussion  on  some  problem  previously  mooted 
between  them,  hurried  off  again  to  look  into  the  eyes  of  some 
charming  partner,  and  before  the  door  closed,  heard  Base- 
dow recommence  dictating. 

This  union  of  philosophy  with  amusement,  of  restless  the- 
orizing with  animal  spirits,  indicates  the  tone  of  his  mind. 
“ I am  contented,”  he  said  to  Lavater,  “ I am  happy.  That 
I feel ; and  yet  the  whole  centre  of  my  joy  is  an  overflowing 
yearning  towards  something  which  I have  not,  something 
which  my  soul  perceives  dimly.”  He  could  reach  that  “ some- 
thing” neither  through  the  pious  preaching  of  Lavater,  nor 
through  the  aggressive  preaching  of  Basedow.  Very  graphic 


144 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iii. 


and  ludicrous  is  the  picture  he  gives  of  his  sitting  like  a citi- 
zen of  the  world  between  a prophet  on  the  right  and  a prophet 
on  the  left  hand,  — 

“ Prophete  rechts,  Prophete  links, 

Das  Welt-Kind  in  der  Mitten,”  — 

quietly  eating  a chicken  while  Lavater  explains  to  a country 
parson  the  mystery  of  the  Revelations,  and  Basedow  aston- 
ishes a dancing-master  with  a scornful  exposure  of  the  inutil- 
ity of  baptism.* 

Nor  could  he  find  this  “ something”  in  Jacobi,  with  whom 
he  now  came  into  sentimental  intimacy.  He  could  to  some 
extent  sympathize  with  Jacobi’s  sentimental  cravings,  and 
philosophic,  religious  aspirations,  for  he  was  bitten  with  the 
Wertherism  of  the  epoch.  He  could  gaze  with  him  in  un- 
easy ecstasy  upon  the  moonlight  quivering  on  the  silent 
Rhine,  and  pour  forth  the  songs  which  were  murmuring  with- 
in his  breast  He  could  form  a friendship,  believing  it  to  rest 
upon  an  eternal  basis  of  perfect  sympathy;  but  the  inward  goad 
which  drove  him  onwards  and  onwards  was  not  to  be  blunted 
until  fresh  experience  had  brought  about  fresh  metamorpho- 
ses in  his  development.  It  is  the  Youth  we  have  before  us 
here,  the  Youth  in  his  struggles  and  many-wandering  aims, 
not  the  Man  grown  into  clearness. 

Jacobi  thought  that  in  Goethe  he  had  at  length  found  the 
man  his  heart  needed,  whose  influence  could  sustain  and  di- 
rect him.  “ The  more  I consider  it,”  he  wrote  to  Wieland, 
“ the  more  intensely  do  I feel  how  impossible  it  is  for  one  who 
who  has  not  seen  and  heard  Goethe,  to  write  a word  about  this 
extraordinary  creation  of  God’s.  One  needs  be  with  him  but 
an  hour  to  see  that  it  is  utterly  absurd  to  expect  him  to  think 
and  act  otherwise  than  as  he  does.  I do  not  mean  that  there 


* See  the  poem  Dine  zu  Coblentz. 


TIIE  LITERARY  LION. 


145 


1 774-] 

is  no  possibility  of  an  improvement  in  him  ; but  nothing  else 
is  possible  with  his  nature,  which  develops  itself  as  the 
flower  does,  as  the  seed  ripens,  as  the  tree  grows  into  the  air 
and  crowns  itself.” 

Goethe’s  wonderful  personality  seems  almost  everywhere  to 
produce  a similar  impression.  Heinse,  the  author  of  Arding- 
hello , writes  of  him  at  this  period  to  Gleim  : “ Goethe  was 
with  us,  a beautiful  youth  of  five-and-twenty,  who  is  all  genius 
and  strength  from  head  to  foot,  his  heart  full  of  feeling,  his 
soul  full  of  fire  and  eagle-winged ; T know  no  man  in  the 
whole  History  of  Literature  who  at  such  an  age  can  be  com- 
pared to  him  in  fulness  and  completeness  of  genius.”  Those, 
and  they  are  the  mass,  who  think  of  him  as  the  calm  and 
stately  minister,  the  old  Jupiter  throned  in  Weimar,  will  feel 
some  difficulty  perhaps  in  recognizing  the  young  Apollo  of 
this  period.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  not  only  was  he 
young,  impetuous,  bursting  into  life,  and  trying  his  eagle 
wings  with  wanton  confidence  of  strength  ; he  was,  moreover, 
a Rhinelander,  with  the  gay  blood  of  that  race  stimulated  by 
the  light  and  generous  wine  of  the  Rhine.  When  I contrast 
young  Goethe  with  a Herder,  for  example,  it  is  always  as  if  a 
flask  of  Rhenish  glittered  beside  a seidel  of  Bavarian  beer. 

Such  answer  to  his  aspirations  as  the  youth  could  at  this 
period  receive,  he  found  in  Spinoza.  In  his  father’s  library 
there  was  a little  book  written  against  Spinoza,  one  of  the 
many  foolish  refutations  which  that  grand  Hebrew’s  misun- 
derstood system  called  forth.  “ It  made  little  impression  on  me, 
for  I hated  controversies,  and  always  wanted  to  know  what  a 
thinker  thought,  and  not  what  another  conceived  he  ought  to 
have  thought .”  It  made  him,  however,  once  more  read  the 
article  Spinoza,  in  Bayle’s  Dictionary , which  he  found  pitia- 
ble* indeed  it  is.  If  a philosophy  is  to  be  judged  by  its 
fruits,  the  philosophy  which  guided  so  great  and  so  virtuous  a 
7 J 


146 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  ill. 


life  as  that  of  Spinoza,  could  not,  Goethe  thought,  deserve 
the  howls  of  execration  which  followed  Spinozism.  He  pro- 
cured the  Opera  Posthuma  and  studied  them  ; with  what 
fruit  let  the  following  confession  indicate : “ After  looking 
around  the  world  in  vain  for  the  means  of  developing  my 
strange  nature,  I met  with  the  Ethics  of  that  philosopher.  Of 
what  I read  in  the  work,  and  of  what  I read  into  it,  I can 
give  no  account,  but  I found  in  it  a sedative  for  my  passions, 
and  it  seemed  to  unveil  a clear,  broad  view  over  the  material 
and  moral  world.  But  what  especially  riveted  me  to  him  was 
the  boundless  disinterestedness  which  shone  forth  in  every 
sentence.  That  wonderful  sentiment,  He  who  truly  loves  God , 
must  not  require  God  to  love  him  in  return , together  with  all  the 
preliminary  propositions  on  which  it  rests,'  and  all  the  conse- 
quences deduced  from  it,  filled  my  mind.*  To  be  disinter- 
ested in  everything,  but  most  of  all  in  love  and  friendship,  was 
my  highest  desire,  my  maxim,  my  practice,  so  that  that  saucy 
speech  of  Philine's , ‘ If  I love  thee,  what  is  that  to  thee  ? ’ was 
spoken  right  out  of  my  heart.  Moreover,  it  must  not  be  for- 
gotten here  that  the  closest  unions  rest  on  contrasts.  The 
all-equalizing  calmness  of  Spinoza  was  in  striking  contrast 
with  my  all-disturbing  activity  ; his  mathematical  method  was 
the  direct  opposite  of  my  poetic  style  of  thought  and  feeling, 
and  that  very  precision  which  was  thought  ill  adapted  to 
moral  subjects  made  me  his  enthusiastic  disciple,  his  most  de- 
cided worshipper.  Mind  and  heart,  understanding  and  sense, 
sought  each  other  with  eager  affinity,  binding  together  the, 
most  different  natures.  But  now  all  within  was  fermenting 
and  seething  in  action  and  reaction.” 

Although  he  studied  Spinoza  much  and  reverently,  he 

* The  proposition  to  which  Goethe  refers  is  doubtless  the  xix.  of 
Book  V.  : Qui  deum  am  at,  conari  non  potest,  ut  Deus  ipsum  contra 
amet. 


*774-1 


LILI. 


147 


never  studied  him  systematically.  The  mathematical  form 
into  which  that  thinker  casts  his  granite  blocks  of  thought,  was 
an  almost  insuperable  hindrance  to  systematic  study  on  the 
part  of  one  so  impatient,  so  desultory,  and  so  unmathemati- 
cal  as  Goethe.  But  a study  may  be  very  fruitful  which  is  by 
no  means  systematic  ; a phrase  may  fructify,  when  falling  on 
a proper  soil. 


CHAPTER  V. 

LILI. 

“ I must  tell  you  something  which  makes  me  happy ; and 
that  is  the  visit  of  many  excellent  men  of  all  grades,  and  from 
all  parts,  who,  among  unimportant  and  intolerable  visitors, 
call  on  me  often,  and  stay  some  time.  We  first  know  that  we 
exist,  when  we  recognize  ourselves  in  others  ( man  weiss  erst 
dass  man  isi,  wenn  man  sich  in  Andem  wiederji?idet ).”  It  is 
thus  he  writes  to  the  Countess  Augusta  von  Stolberg,  with 
whom  he  h*d  formed,  through  correspondence,  one  of  those 
romantic  friendships  which  celebrated  men,  some  time  in  their 
lives,  are  generally  led  to  form.  This  correspondence  is 
among  the  most  characteristic  evidences  we  have  of  his  men- 
tal condition,  and  should  be  read  by  every  one  who  wishes  to 
correct  the  tone  of  the  Autobiography.  Above  all,  it  is  the 
repository  of  his  fluctuating  feelings  respecting  Lili,  the  wo- 
man whom,  according  to  his  statement  to  Eckermann,  he 
loved  more  than  any  other.  “ She  was  the  first,  and  I can 
also  add  she  is  the  last,  I truly  loved ; for  all  the  inclinations 
which  have  since  agitated  my  heart  were  superficial  and  triv- 
ial in  comparison.”*  There  is  no  statement  he  has  made 
* Cesprdche , III.  p.  299. 


148 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE . [book  hi. 


respecting  a matter  of  feeling,  to  which  one  may  oppose  a flat- 
ter contradiction.  Indeed  we  find  it  difficult  to  believe  he  ut- 
tered such  a sentence,  unless  we  remember  how  carelessly  in 
conversation  such  retrospective  statements  are  made,  and  how, 
at  his  very  advanced  age,  the  memory  of  youthful  feelings 
must  have  come  back  upon  him  with  peculiar  tenderness. 
Whatever  caused  him  to  make  that  statement,  the  statement 
is  very  questionable.  It  nowhere  appears  that  he  loved  Lili 
more  than  Frederika ; and  we  shall  hereafter  have  positive 
evidence  that  his  love  for  the  Frau  von  Stein,  and  for  his  wife, 
was  of  a much  deeper  and  more  enduring  nature.  “ My  love 
for  Lili,”  he  said  to  Eckermann,  “ had  something  so  peculiar 
and  delicate  that  even  now  it  has  influenced  my  style  in  the 
narrative  of  that  painfully  happy  epoch.  When  you  read  the 
fourth  volume  of  my  Autobiography , you  will  see  that  my  love 
was  something  quite  different  from  love  in  novels.” 

Well,  the  fourth  volume  is  now  open  to  every  one,  and  he 
must  have  peculiar  powers  of  divination  who  can  read  any 
profound  passion  in  the  narrative.  A colder  love-history  was 
never  written  by  a poet.  There  is  no  emotion  warming  the 
narrative  ; there  is  little  of  a loving  recollection,  gathering  all 
details  into  one  continuous  story;  it  is,  indeed,  with  great  diffi- 
culty one  unravels  the  story  at  all.  He  seems  to  seize  every  ex- 
cuse to  interrupt  the  narrative  by  general  reflections,  or  by 
sketches  of  other  people.  He  speaks  of  himself  as  “ the 
youth  of  whom  we  now  write  ” ! He  speaks  of  her,  and  her 
circle,  in  the  vaguest  manner ; and  the  feelings  which  agitat- 
ed him  we  must  “ read  between  the  lines.” 

It  is  very  true,  however,  that  the  love  there  depicted  is  unlike 
the  love  depicted  in  novels.  In  novels,  whatever  piay  be  the 
amount  of  foolishness  with  which  the  writers  adumbrate  their 
ideal  of  the  passion,  this  truth,  at  least,  is  everywhere  set  forth, 
that  to  love  we  must  render  up  Tody  and  soul,  heart  and 


774] 


LILI. 


149 


mind,  all  interests  and  all  desires,  all  prudences  and  all  am- 
bitions, identifying  our  being  with  that  of  another,  in  union 
to  become  elevated.  To  love  is  for  the  soul  to  choose  a com- 
panion, and  travel  with  it  along  the  perilous  defiles  and  wind- 
ing ways  of  life ; mutually  sustaining,  when  the  path  is  terri- 
ble with  dangers,  mutually  exhorting,  when  it  is  rugged  with 
obstructions,  and  mutually  rejoicing,  when  rich  broad  plains 
and  sunny  slopes  make  the  journey  a delight,  showing  in  the 
quiet  distance  the  resting-place  we  all  seek  in  this  world. 

It  was  not  such  companionship  he  sought  with  Lili ; it  was 
not  such  self-devotion  which  made  him  restlessly  happy  in  her 
love.  This  child  of  sixteen,  in  all  the  merciless  grace  of 
maidenhood,  proudly  conscious  of  her  power,  ensnared  his 
roving  heart  through  the  lures  of  passionate  desire,  but  she 
never  touched  his  soul ; as  the  story  we  have  to  tell  will  suffi- 
ciently prove. 

Anna  Elizabeth  Schonemann,  immortalized  as  Lili,  was  the 
daughter  of  a great  banker  in  Frankfurt,  who  lived  in  the 
splendid  style  of  merchant  princes.  She  was  sixteen  when 
Goethe-  first  fell  in  love  with  her.  The  age  is  significant.  It 
was  somewhat  the  age  of  Frederika,  Lotte,  Antoinette,  and 
Maximiliane  : an  age  when  girlhood  has  charms  of  grace  and 
person,  of  beauty  and  freshness,  which  even  those  will  not 
deny  who  profoundly  feel  the  superiority  of  a developed  wo- 
man. There  is  poetry  in  this  age  ; but  there  is  no  depth, 
no  fulness  of  character.  Imagine  the  wide-sweeping  mind  of 
the  author  of  Gotz,  Faust , Prometheus , The  Wandering  Jew , 
Mahomet , in  companionship  with  the  mind  of  a girl  of  six' 
teen  1 

Nor  was, Lili  an  exceptional  character.  Young,  graceful, 
and  charming,  she  was  confessedly  a coquette.  Early  in  their 
acquaintance,  in  one  of  those  pleasant  hours  of  overflowing 
egotism  wherein  lovers  take  pride  in  the  confession  of  faults 


150  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 

(not  without  intimation  also  of  nobler  qualities),  Lili  told  him 
the  story  of  her  life;  told  him  what  a flirt  she  had  been  ; told 
him,  moreover,  that  she  had  tried  her  spells  on  him,  and  was 
punished  by  being  herself  ensnared.  Armida  found  herself 
spell  bound  by  Rinaldo  ; but  this  Rinaldo  followed  her  into 
the  enchanted  gardens  more  out  of  adventurous  curiosity  than 
love. 

There  was  considerable  difference  in  their  stations;  and 
the  elegant  society  of  the  banker’s  ho\ise  was  every  way  dis- 
cordant to  the  wild  youth,  whose  thoughts  were  of  Nature  and 
unconstrained  freedom.  The  balls  and  concerts  to  which  he 
followed  her  were  little  to  his  taste.  “ If,”  he  writes  to  Au- 
gusta von  Stolberg,  — “ if  you  can  imagine  a Goethe  in  a braid- 
ed coat,  from  head  to  foot  in  the  gallantest  costume,  amid 
the  glare  of  chandeliers,  fastened  to  the  card-table  by  a pair 
of  bright  eyes,  surrounded  by  all  sorts  of  people,  driven  in 
endless  dissipation  from  concert  to  ball,  and  with  frivolous 
interest  making  love  to  a pretty  blonde,  then  will  you  have  a 
picture  of  the  present  Carnival-Goethe.” 

Lili  coquetted,  and  her  coquetry  seems  to  have  cooled  his 
passion  for  a while,  though  she  knew  how  to  rekindle  it.  She 
served  him  as  he  served  poor  Kathchen,  in  Leipsic  ; and  as 
in  Leipsic  he  dramatized  his  experience  under  the  form  of  Die 
Laune  des  Verliebten , so  here  he  dramatizes  the  new  experience 
in  an  opera,  Erwin  und  Elmire,  wherein  the  coquetry  of  a 
mistress  brings  a lover  to  despair,  — a warning  to  Lili,  which 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  altogether  without  effect. 

Not  only  had  he  to  suffer  from  her  thoughtlessness,  but  also 
from  the  thoughtfulness  of  parents  on  both  sides.  It  was  not 
a marriage  acceptable  to  either  house.  The  banker’s  daugh- 
ter, it  was  thought,  should  marry  into  some  rich  or  noble 
family.  A poet,  who  belonged  to  a well-to-do  yet  compara- 
tively unimportant  family,  was  not  exactly  the  bridegroom 


1774] 


LILI. 


151 

most  desired.  On  the  other  hand,  the  proud,  stiff  old  Rath 
did  not  greatly  rejoice  in  the  prospect  of  having  a fine  lady 
for  his  daughter-in-law.  Cornelia,  who  knew  her  father,  and 
knew  his  pedantic  ways,  wrote  strongly  against  the  marriage. 
Merck,  Crespel,  Horn,  and  other  , friends,  were  all  decidedly 
opposed  to  so  incompatible  a match.  But  of  course  the 
lovers  were  only  thrown  closer  together  by  these  attempts  to 
separate  them. 

A certain  Demoiselle  Delf  managed  to  overcome  objections, 
and  gain  the  consent  of  both  families.  “ How  she  commenced 
it,  how  she  got  over  the  difficulties,  I know  not,  but  one 
evening  she  came  to  us  bringing  the  consent.  ‘Take  each 
other’s  hands,’  she  cried  in  a half-pathetic,  half-imperious 
manner ; I advanced  to  Lili  and  held  out  my  hand  : in  it  she 
placed  hers,  not  indeed  reluctantly,  yet  slowly.  With  a deep 
sigh  we  sank  into  each  other’s  arms,  greatly  agitated.”  No  for- 
mal betrothal  seems  to  have  taken  place.  Indeed,  the  con- 
sent which  was  obtained  seems  in  nowise  to  have  altered  the 
feeling  of  friends  and  relatives.  The  nearer  marriage  seemed, 
the  more  impracticable  it  appeared.  To  Goethe,  after  the 
first  flush  of  joy  had  subsided,  the  idea  of  marriage  was  in 
itself  enough  to  make  him  uneasy,  and  to  sharpen  his  sense 
of  the  disparity  in  station.  The  arrival  of  the  two  Counts 
Stolberg,  and  their  proposal  that  he  should  accompany  them 
in  a tour  through  Switzerland,  gave  an  excuse  for  freeing  him-' 
self  from  Lili,  “ as  an  experiment  to  try  whether  he  could  re- 
nounce her.” 

Before  accompanying  him  on  his  journey,  it  is  necessary  to 
cast  a retrospective  glance  at  some  biographical  details,  omit- 
ted while  the  story  of  Lili  was  narrated.  The  mornings  were 
devoted  to  poetry,  the  middle  of  the  day  to  jurisprudence. 
Poetry  was  the  breathing-room  of  his  heart.  In  it  he  sought 
to  escape  from  the  burden  of  intolerable  doubts.  “ If  I did 


152 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


\ 


N 


not  write  dramas  I should  be  lost,”  he  tells  Augusta  von 
Stolberg.  Among  these  dramas  we  must  place  Stella , for 
which,  as  we  learn  from  a letter  to  Merck,  the  publisher 
offered  twenty  dollars,  — that  is  to  say,  three  pounds  sterling. 
What  an  insight  this  gives  into  the  state  of  literature  ; the 
author  of  two  immensely  popular  works  is  offered  three 
pounds  for  a drama  in  five  acts  ! Poor  Schiller,  subsequently, 
was  glad  to  write  histories  and  translate  memoirs  for  fifteen 
or  eighteen  shillings  the  sheet  of  sixteen  pages. 

Besides  Stella , he  seemed  to  have  worked  at  Faust , and  to 
have  written  the  opera  of  Claudine  von  Villa  Bella , several 
passages  for  Lavater’s  Physiognomy , and  many  smaller  poems. 

The  Stolbergs,  with  whom  the  Swiss  journey  was  made, 
were  two  ardent  admirers  of  Klopstock,  and  two  specimens 
of  the  defiant  “ genius  ” class  which  scorned  convention. 
They  hated  imaginary  tyrants ; outraged  sober  citizens  by 
their  reckless  recurrence  to  a supposed  state  of  Nature ; and 
astonished  sensible  citizens  by  their  exaggerated  notions  of 
friendship.  Merck  was  pitiless  in  his  sarcasms  and  warn- 
ings. He  could  not  tolerate  the  idea  of  Goethe’s  travelling 
with  these  Burschen.  But  Goethe  had  too  much  of  kindred 
deviltry  in  him,  breaking  out  at  moments,  to  object  to  the 
wildness  of  his  companions ; though  he  began  to  suspect  all 
was  not  right  when,  after  violating  every  other  eonve?iance , 
they  insisted  on  bathing  in  public.  Nature  having  nothing 
to  say  against  nakecj  youths  in  the  bright  sunshine,  what 
business  had  old  Humdrum  to  cover  its  eyes  with  modest 
hands,  and  pretend  to  be  shocked?  However,  so  little  pre- 
possessed was  Humdrum  in  favor  of  the  Nude,  that  stones 
were  showered  upon  these  children  of  Nature,  — a criticism 
which  effectively  modified  their  practice,  if  it  failed  to  alter 
their  views. 

Drinking  the  health  of  Stolberg’s  mistress,  and  then  dash- 


774] 


L1LI. 


53 


ing  the  glasses  against  the  wall  to  prevent  their  being  dese- 
crated by  other  lips  after  so  solemn  a consecration  (a  process 
which  looked  less  heroic  when  itentd  in  the  bill  next  day), 
and  otherwise  demeaning  themselves  like  true  children  of 
“genius,”  they  passed  a wild  and  merry  time.  This  journey 
need  not  longer  detain  us.  Two  visits  alone  deserve  men- 
tion. One  was  to  Karl  August,  who  was  then  in  Karlsruhe 
arranging  his  marriage  with  the  Princess  Luise,  and  who  very 
pressingly  invited  the  poet  to  Weimar.  The  other  was  to  his 
sister  Cornelia,  who  earnestly  set  before  him  all  the  objec- 
tions to  a marriage  with  Lili.  “ I made  no  promises,”  he 
says,  “ although  forced  to  confess  that  she  had  convinced 
me.  I left  her  with  that  strange  feeling  in  my  heart  with  which 
passion  nourishes  itself ; for  the  boy  Cupid  clings  obstinately 
to  the  garment  of  Hope  even  when  she  is  preparing  with 
long  strides  to  depart.”  The  image  of  Lili  haunted  him 
amid  the  lovely  scenes  of  Nature.  It  was  her  image  which 
endeared  him  to  his  native  land.  His  father,  always  desirous 
he  should  see  Italy,  was  now  doubly  anxious  he  should  go 
there,  as  the  surest  means  of  a separation  from  Lili.  But 
“Lombardy  and  Italy,”  says  the  poet,  “lay  before  me  a 
strange  land ; while  the  dear  home  of  Germany  lay  behind, 
full  of  sweet  domesticities,  and  where  — let  me  confess  it  — 
she  lived  who  so  long  had  enchained  me,  in  whom  my  exist- 
ence was  centred.  A little  golden  heart,  which  in  my  happi- 
est hours  I had  received  from  her,  still  hung  round  my  neck. 

I drew  it  forth  and  covered  it  with  kisses.” 

On  his  return  to  Frankfurt  he  learned  that  Lili’s  friends 
had  taken  advantage  of  his  absence  to  try  and  bring  about 
a separation,  arguing,  not  without  justice,  that  his  absence  ^ 
was  a proof  of  lukewarmness.  But  Lili  remained  firm  ; and 
it  was  said  that  she  had  declared  herself  willing  to  go  with 
him  to  America.  A sentence  from  the  Autobiography  is 


154 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  hi. 


worth  quoting,  as  a specimen  of  that  love  “ so  unlike  the 
love  to  be  found  in  novels,”  which  he  declared  had  given  a 
peculiar  tone  to  his  narrative.  It  is  in  reference  to  this  will- 
ingness of  Lili  to  go  to  America : “ The  very  thing  which 
should  have  animated  my  hopes  depressed  them.  My  fair 
paternal  house,  only  a few  hundred  paces  from  hers,  was 
after  all  more  endurable  and  attractive  than  a remote,  hazard- 
ous spot  beyond  the  seas  ! ” A sentence  which  recalls  Gib- 
bon’s antithesis,  on  his  resignation  of  his  early  love : “ I 
sighed  as  a lover,  I obeyed  as  a son.” 

He  was  restless  and  unhappy  during  these  months,  for  he 
was  not  strong  enough  to  give  up  Lili,  nor  sufficiently  in  love 
to  marry  her;  jealous  of  those  who  surrounded  her,  hurt  by 
her  coldness,  he  was  every  now  and  then  led  captive  by  her 
tenderness.  There  were  moments  when  bygone  days  seemed 
once  more  restored,  and  then  instantly  vanished  again.  His 
\J  poem  of  Lili's  Menagerie  expresses  his  surly  disgust  at  the 
familiar  faces  which  surround  her.  The  Bear  of  the  menage- 
rie is  a portrait  of  himself. 

Turning  to  Art  for  consolation,  he  began  the  tragedy  of 
V Egmont , which  he  completed  many  years  afterwards  in  Italy. 
It  was  a work  which  demanded  more  repose  than  could  be 
found  in  his  present  condition,  and  I hasten  to  the  d'enonement 
of  an  episode  which,  amid  fluctuations  of  feeling,  steadily 
advanced  to  an  end  that  must  have  been  foreseen.  The 
betrothal  was  cancelled.  He  was  once  more  free.  Free,  but 
not  happy.  His  heart  still  yearned  for  her,  rather  because 
there  lay  in  his  nature  a need  of  loving,  than  because  she 
was  the  woman  fitted  to  share  his  life.  He  lingered  about 
the  house  o’  nights,  wrapped  in  his  mantle,  satisfied  if  he 
could  catch  a glimpse  of  her  shadow  on  the  blind  as  she 
moved  about  the  room.  One  night  he  heard  her  singing  at 
the  piano.  His  pulses  throbbed  as  he  distinguished  his  own 
song,  — 


1774]  LILL 

“ Wherefore  so  resistlessly  dost 
Into  scenes  so  bright  ? n — 

the  song  he  had  written  in  the  morning  of  their 
Her  voice  ceased.  She  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
room,  little  dreaming  that  her  lover  was  beneath  her  window. 

To  give  decision  to  his  wavering  feelings,  there  came,  most 
opportunely,  a visitor  to  Frankfurt.  Karl  August,  with  his 
bride,  on  his  way  to  Weimar,  once  more  pressed  him  to 
spend  a few  weeks  at  his  court.  The  rapid  inclination  which 
had  sprung  up  between  the  Prince  and  the  Poet,  — the  de- 
sire to  see  something  of  the  great  world,  — the  desire,  more- 
over, to  quit  Frankfurt,  all  combined  to  make  him  eagerly 
accept  the  invitation.  His  father,  indeed,  tried  to  dissuade 
him  ; partly  because  he  did  not  like  the  intercourse  of  plain 
citizens  with  princes  ; partly  because  the  recent  experience 
of  Voltaire  with  Frederick  the  Great  seemed  to  point  to  an 
inevitable  termination  in  disgrace,  if  not  evaded  by  servility. 
His  consent  was  extorted  at  last,  however,  and  Goethe  quit- 
ted forever  the  paternal  roof. 


f 


BOOK  THE  FOURTH. 

i ;75  to  1779. 


CHAPTER  I. 

WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

On  the  7th  of  November,  1775,  Goethe,  aged  twenty-six, 
arrived  at  the  little  city  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilm,  where  his 
long  residence  was  to  confer  on  an  insignificant  Duchy  "the 
immortal  renown  of  a German  Athens. 

Small  indeed  is  the  space  occupied  on  the  map  by  the 
Duchy  of  Saxe-Weimar,  yet  the  historian  of  the  German 
Courts  declares,  and  truly,  that  after  Berlin  there  is  no  Court 
of  which  the  nation  is  so  proud.*  Frederick  the  Great  and 
Wolfgang  Goethe  have  raised  these  Courts  into  centres  of  un- 
dying interest.  Of  Weimar  it  is  necessary  we  should  form  a 
distinct  idea,  if  we  would  understand  the  outward  life  of  the 
poet. 

“ Klein  ist  unter  den  Fiirsten  Germaniens  freilich  der  meine, 

Kurz  und  schmal  ist  sein  Land,  m'assig  nur  was  er  vermag.” 

“ Small  among  German  princes  is  mine,  poor  and  narrow  his 
kingdom,  limited  his  power  of  doing  good.”  Thus  sings 
Goethe  in  that  poem,  so  honorable  to  both,  wherein  he  ac- 
knowledges his  debt  to  Karl  August.  The  geographical  im- 
portance of  Weimar  was  and  is  small ; but  we  in  England 
have  proud  reason  to  know  how  great  a place  in  the  world 

* Vehse  : Geschichte  der  Deutschen  Hd/e  seit  der  Reformation , Vol. 
XXVIII.  p.  3. 


1775  ] WEIMAR  IN'  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  i$y 

can  be  filled  by  a nation  whose  place  is  trivial  on  the  map. 
We  know,  moreover,  that  the  Athens  which  it  is  the  pride  of 
Weimar  to  claim  as  a patronymic  was  but  a dot  upon  the  sur- 
face of  Europe, — a dot  of  earth,  feeding  some  twenty  thou- 
sand freemen,  who  not  only  extended  the  empire  of  their  arms 
from  Euboea  to  the  Thracian  Bosphorus,  but  who  left  their 
glories-  in  Literature,  Philosophy,  and  Art,  as  marvels  and  as 
models  for  the  civilized  world.  It  is  interesting,  therefore,  to 
know  how  small  this  Duchy  of  Saxe-Weimar  was,  that  we 
may  appreciate  the  influence  exercised  by  means  so  circum- 
scribed. We  must  know  how  absurdly  scant  the  income  of 
its  generous  prince,  who,  as  I am  credibly  informed,  would 
occasionally  supply  the  deficiencies  of  his  purse  by  the  prince- 
ly unprinceliness  of  selling  to  the  Jews  a diamond  ring  or 
ancestral  snuff-box,  that  he  might  hand  the  proceeds  to  some 
struggling  artist  or  poet.  I mention  this  lest  it  should  be  sup- 
posed that  a sarcastic  spirit  has  dictated  the  enumeration  of 
unimposing  details  in  the  following  attempt  to  reconstruct 
some  image  of  Weimar  and  its  Court. 

Weimar  is  an  ancient  city  on  the  Ilm,  a small  stream  rising 
in  the  Thuringian  forests,  and  losing  itself  in  the  Saal,  at 
Jena;  this  stream,  on  which  the  sole  navigation  seems  to  be 
that  of  ducks,  meanders  peacefully  through  pleasant  valleys,  ex- 
cept during  the  rainy  season,  when  mountain-torrents  swell 
its  current,  and  overflow  its  banks.  The  Trent,  between 
Trentham  and  Stafford, — “the  smug  and  silver  Trent,”  as 
Shakespeare  calls  it, — will  give  an  idea  of  this  stream.  The 
town  is  charmingly  placed  in  the  Ilm  valley,  and  stands  some 
eight  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  “ Weimar,” 
says  the  old  topographer,  Mathew  Merian,  “is  Weinmar , 
because  it  was  the  wine  market  for  Jena  and  its  envi- 
rons. Others  say  it  was  because  some  one  here  in  ancient 
days  began  to  plant  the  vine,  who  was  hence  called  Wein- 


! 58  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  iv. 

mayer.  But  of  this  each  reader  may  believe  just  what  he 
pleases.”  * 

On  a first  acquaintance,  Weimar  seems  more  like  a village 
bordering  a park,  than  a capital  with  a Court,  having  all  court- 
ly environments.  It  is  so  quiet,  so  simple  ; and  although  an- 
cient in  its  architecture,  has  none  of  the  picturesqueness 
which  delights  the  eye  in  most  old  German  cities.  The  stone- 
colored,  light  brown,  and  apple-green  houses  have  high-peaked 
slanting  roofs,  but  no  quaint  gables,  no  caprices  of  archi- 
tectural fancy,  none  of  the  mingling  of  varied  styles  which, 
elsewhere  charms  the  traveller.  One  learns  to  love  its  quiet 
simple  streets,  and  pleasant  paths,  fit  theatre  for  the  simple 
actors  moving  across  the  scene ; but  one  must  live  there 
some  time  to  discover  its  charm.  The  aspect  it  presented, 
when  Goethe  arrived,  was  of  course  very  different  from  that 
presented  now  ; but  by  diligent  inquiry  we  may  get  some 
rough  image  of  the  place  restored.  First  be  it  noted  that  the 
city  walls  were  still  erect ; gates  and  portcullis  still  spoke  of 
days  of  warfare.  Within  these  walls  were  six  or  seven  hun- 
dred houses,  not  more,  most  of  them  very  ancient.  Under 
these  roofs  were  about  seven  thousand  inhabitants, — for  the 
most  part  not  handsome.  The  city  gates  were  strictly  guard- 
ed. No  one  could  pass  through  them  in  cart  or  carriage 
without  leaving  his  name  in  the  sentinel's  book  ; even  Goethe, 
minister  and  favorite,  could  not  escape  this  tiresome  formali- 
ty, as  we  gather  from  one  of  his  letters  to  the  Frau  von  Stein, 
directing  her  to  go  out  alone,  and  meet  him  beyond  the  gates, 
lest  their  exit  together  should  be  known.  During  Sunday 
service  a chain  was  thrown  across  the  streets  leading  to  the 
church,  to  bar  out  all  passengers  ; a practice  to  this  day  par- 
tially retained  : the  chain  is  fastened,  but  the  passengers  step 
over  it  without  ceremony.  There  was  little  safety  at  night  in 

* Topographia  Sipcrioris  Saxonicet  Thuringia , etc.,  1650,  p.  188. 


1775-]  WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 

those  silent  streets  ; for  if  you  were  in  no  great  danger  from 
marauders,  you  were  in  constant  danger  of  breaking  a limb 
in  some  hole  or  other  ; the  idea  of  lighting  streets  not  having 
presented  itself  to  the  Thuringian  mind.  In  the  year  1685 
the  streets  of  London  were  first  lighted  with  lamps  : in  1775 
Germany  had  not  yet  ventured  on  that  experiment.  If  in 
1854  Weimar  is  still  innocent  of  gas,  and  perplexes  its  in- 
habitants with  the  dim  obscurity  of  an  occasional  oil-lamp 
slung  on  a cord  across  the  streets,  we  can  suppose  that  in 
1775  ^ had  not  even  advanced  so  far.  And  our  supposition 
is  exact.* 

The  palace,  which  now  forms  three  sides  of  a quadrangle, 
and  is  truly  palatial  in  appearance,  was  in  ashes  when  Goethe 
arrived.  The  ducal  pair  inhabited  the  Fiirstenhaus,  which 
stands  opposite.  The  park  was  not  in  existence.  In  its  place 
there  was  the  Welsche  Garten, , a garden  arranged  after  the 
pattern  of  Versailles,  with  trees  trimmed  into  set  shapes,  with 
square  beds,  canals,  bridges,  and  a Babylonic  spiral  tower 
called  Die  Schnecke , in  which  the  people  assembled  to  hear 
music,  and  to  enjoy  punch  and  sweet  cakes.  To  the  left  of  this 
garden  stood  the  nucleus  of  the  present  park,  and  a wooded 
mass  stretching  as  far  as  Upper  Weimar. 

Saxe-Weimar  has  no  trade,  no  manufactures,  no  animation 
of  commercial,  political,  or  even  theological  activity.  This  part 
of  Saxony,  be  it  remembered,  was  the  home  and  shelter  of  Prot- 
estantism in  its  birth.  Only  a few  miles  from  Weimar  stands 
the  Wartburg,  where  Luther,  in  the  disguise  of  Squire  George, 
lived  in  safety,  translating  the  Bible,  and  hurling  his  inkstand 

* In  a decree  made  at  Cassel,  in  1775,  this  sentence  is  noticeable  : 
“ In  every  house,  as  soon  as  the  alarum  sounds  at  night,  every  inhabitant 
must  hold  out  a lighted  lantern,  in  order  that  the  people  may  find  their 
way  in  the  streets.”  Quoted  by  Biedermann,  Deutschland  im  iSten 
'Jahrhundert , I.  p.  370. 


l6o  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 

at  the  head  of  Satan,  like  a rough-handed  disputant  as  he  was. 
In  the  market-place  of  Weimar  stand  to  this  day  two  houses, 
from  the  windows  of  which  Tetzel  advertised  his  indulgences, 
and  Luther  afterwards  in  fiery  indignation  fulminated  against 
them.  These  records  of  religious  struggle  still  remain,  but 
are  no  longer  suggestions  for  the  continuance  of  the  strife. 
The  fire  is  burnt  out ; and  perhaps  in  no  city  of  Europe 
is  theology  so  placid,  so  entirely  at  rest  The  Wartburg  still 
rears  its  picturesque  eminence  over  the  lovely  Thuringian  val- 
leys ; and  Luther’s  room  is  visited  by  thousands  of  pilgrims  ; 
but  in  this  very  palace  of  the  Wartburg,  besides  the  room 
where  Luther  struggled  with  Satan,  the  visitors  are  shown  the 
Banqueting  Hall  of  the  Minnesingers,  where  poet  challenged 
poet,  and  the  Sdngerkrieg ; or  Minstrels’  Contest,  was  celebrat- 
ed. The  contrast  may  be  carried  further.  It  may  be  taken 
as  a symbol  of  the  intellectual  condition  of  Saxe-Weimar, 
that  while  the  relics  of  Luther  are  simply  preserved,  the  Min- 
strel Hall  is  now  being  restored  in  more  than  its  pristine 
splendor.  Lutheran  theology  is  crumbling  away,  just  as  the 
famous  inkspot  has  disappeared  beneath  the  gradual  scrap- 
ings of  visitors’  pen-knives  ; but  the  minstrelsy  of  which  the 
Germans  are  so  proud  daily  receives  fresh  honor  and  adula- 
tion. Nor  is  this  adulation  a mere  revival.  Every  year  the 
Wartburg  saw  assembled  the  members  of  that  numerous  family 
(the  Bachs)  which,  driven  from  Hungary  in  the  early  period 
of  Reform,  had  settled  in  Saxony,  and  had  given,  besides  the 
great  John  Sebastian  Bach,  many  noble  musicians  to  the 
world.  Too  numerous  to  gain  a livelihood  in  one  city,  the 
Bachs  agreed  to  meet  every  year  at  the  Wartburg.  This  cus- 
tom, which  was  continued  till  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  cent- 
ury, not  only  presented  the  singular  spectacle  of  one  family 
consisting  of  no  less  than  a hundred  and  twenty  musicians, 
but  was  also  the  occasion  of  musical  entertainments  such  as 


1775-]  WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  x6l 


were  never  heard  before.  They  began  by  religious  hymns, 
sung  in  chorus  ; they  then  took  for  their  theme  some  popular 
song,  comic  or  licentious,  varying  it  by  the  improvisation  of 
four,  five,  or  six  parts ; these  improvisations  were  named  Quo - 
libets,  and  are  considered  by  many  writers  to  have  been  the 
origin  of  German  opera. 

The  theologic  fire  has  long  burnt  itself  out  in  Thuringia. 
In  Weimar,  where  Luther  preached,  another  preacher  came, 
whom  we  know  as  Goethe.  In  the  old  church  there  is  one 
portrait  of  Luther,  painted  by  his  friend  Lucas  Kranach, 
greatly  prized,  as  well  it  may  be ; but  for  this  one  portrait  of 
Luther,  there  are  a hundred  of  Goethe.  It  is  not  Luther,  but 
Goethe,  they  think  of  here  ; poetry,  not  theology,  is  the  glory 
of  Weimar.  And,  corresponding  with  this,  we  find  the  dom- 
inant characteristic  of  the  place  to  be  no  magnificent  church, 
no  picturesque  ancient  buildings,  no  visible  image  of  the 
earlier  ages,  but  the  sweet  serenity  of  a lovely  park.  The 
park  fills  the  foreground  of  the  picture,  and  always  rises  first 
in  the  memory.  Any  one  who  has  spent  happy  hours  wan- 
dering through  its  sunny  walks  and  winding  shades,  watching 
its  beauties  changing  through  the  fulness  of  summer,  and  the 
striking  contrasts  of  autumn  as  it  deepens  into  winter,  will 
easily  understand  how  Goethe  could  have  been  content  to 
live  in  so  small  a city,  which  had,  besides  its  nest  of  friends, 
so  charming  a park.  It  was  indeed  mainly  his  own  creation  ; 
and  as  it  filled  a large  space  in  his  life,  it  demands  more  than 
a passing  allusion  here. 

Southwards  from  the  palace  it  begins,  with  no  obstacle  of 
wall  or  iron  gate,  servant  or  sentinel,  to  seem  to  shut  us  out, 
so  let  us  enter  and  look  round.  In  the  dew  of  morning,  and 
in  the  silence  of  moonlight,  we  may  wander  undisturbed  as 
if  in  our  own  grounds.  The  land  stretches  for  miles  away 
without  barrier;  park  and  yellow  corn-lands  forming  one 

K 


!(52  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  iv. 

friendly  expanse.  If  we  pass  into  it  from  the  palace  gates,  a 
winding  path  to  the  right  conducts  us  into  the  Belvedere 
Allee,  — a magnificent  avenue  of  chestnut-trees,  two  miles 
long,  stretching  from  the  new  street  to  the  summer  palace  of 
Belvedere.  This  affords  a shaded  promenade  along  the 
park,  in  summer  grateful  for  its  coolness,  in  autumn  looking 
like  an  avenue  of  golden  trees.  It  terminates  in  the  gardens 
of  the  Belvedere,  which  has  its  park  also  beautifully  disposed. 
Here  the  Weimarians  resort,  to  enjoy  the  fresh  air  after 
their  fashion,  namely,  with  accompaniments  of  bad  beer, 
questionable  coffee,  and  detestable  tobacco. 

If,  instead  of  turning  into  the  Belvedere  Allde,  we  keep 
within  the  park,  our  walks  are  so  numerous  that  choice  be- 
comes perplexing.  Let  us  cross  the  Stern  Briicke , a bridge 
leading  from  the  palace.  Turning  to  our  right  and  passing 
along  through  noble  trees,  we  reach  the  broad  road  leading 
to  Upper  Weimar.  On  this  road,  which  skirts  a meadow 
washed  by  the  Ilm,  we  shall  pass  Goethe’s  Gartenhaus  (Gar- 
den House,  to  be  described  hereafter),  and  then  winding 
round  the  meadow,  cross  another  bridge,  and  enter  a shad- 
owy path,  picturesque  with  well-grouped  trees,  — the  solemn 
pine,  the  beech  whose  dark  green  patches  of  moss  increase 
the  brilliancy  of  its  silver  bark,  the  weeping  birch  with  its 
airy  elegance  of  form,  the  plane-tree,  the  elm,  the  chestnut, 
and  the  mountain-ash  brilliant  with  berries  hanging  like 
clusters  of  coral  against  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky.  One 
steep  side  of  this  path  is  craggy  with  masses  of  moss-covered 
rock  ; beneath  the  other  flows  the  Ilm.  A few  paces  from  the 
bridge  which  leads  us  here  stands  the  Borkenhaus  (Bark 
House),  a hermit’s  hut,  erected  by  Goethe  for  a fete  of  the 
duchess,  and  subsequently  the  favorite  residence  of  the  duke. 
It  is  only  twenty  feet  long  and  fourteen  deep,  built  entirely 
of  wood,  and  plastered  (so  to  speak)  with  the  bark  of  trees. 


1775-1  WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  ^3 


It  rests  against  a rock  amid  the  trees,  and  is  surrounded  by 
a wooden  gallery,  reached  by  rough  wooden  steps.  Where 
is  the  prince  who  would  live  in  such  a hut  nowadays? 
Where  are  the  ministers  who  would  attend  council  in  such  a 
hut?  Yet  here  Karl  August  lived  alone,  glad  to  escape 
from  the  tedium  of  etiquette,  and  the  palling  pleasures  of  a 
little  court.  Here  he  debated  affairs  of  state,  not  less  mo- 
mentous to  him  because  they  were  trivial  in  European  poli- 
tics. Here  he  bathed  in  the  Ilm  running  beneath.  Here  he 
could  see  the  Garden  House  of  his  poet,  and  make  signs  to 
him  across  the  park.  In  this  single  room,  which  was  at 
once  dining-room,  council-chamber,  study,  and  bedroom,  the 
manly  duke  lived  alone  for  months. 

From  the  Borkenhaus  a small  flight  of  stone  steps  conducts 
us  to  a mimic  Ruin,  and  thence  a narrow  winding  path  leads 
to  a stone  monument,  interesting  as  a witness  to  the  growth 
of  a mythos.  It  is  an  antique  column,  four  feet  high,  round 
which  a serpent  winds,  in  the  act  of  devouring  the  offering 
cakes  on  the  top.  The  inscription  says,  Genio  Loci.  But  the 
Weimar plebs , disregarding  antique  symbols,  and  imperfectly 
acquainted  with  Virgil,  has  a legend  to  tell ; a legend  sprung, 
no  one  knows  whence,  rapid  and  mysterious  as  the  growth 
of  fungi,  like  most  legends,  to  satisfy  the  imperious  crav- 
ing for  explanations ; a legend  which  certifies  how,  for- 
merly, a huge  serpent  dwelt  in  this  spot,  the  terror  of  Wei- 
mar, until  a cunning  baker  bethought  him  of  placing  poi- 
soned cakes  within  the  monster’s  reach ; and  when  the 
greedy  ignorance  of  the  serpent  had  relieved  Weimar  of 
the  monster,  a grateful  people  erected  this  monument  to 
an  energetic  and  inventive  baker:  Et  voilct  comine  on  ecrit 
I’hisioire. 

I will  not  fatigue  the  reader  by  dragging  him  all  over  this 
much-loved  park,  which  must  be  enjoyed  directly,  not  through 


1 64  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  IV. 

description ; * enough  for  present  purposes  if  it  be  added 
that  while  the  summer  palace  of  Belvedere  is  connected  with 
Weimar  by  the  chestnut  avenue,  the  summer  palace  and  park 
of  Tiefurt  is  also  connected  with  Wiemar  by  a richly  wooded 
road,  the  Webicht.  This  Tiefurt  is  a tiny  little  place,  quite  a 
curiosity  of  diminutiveness.  The  park,  through  which  runs 
a branch  of  the  Ilm,  is  tiny  but  picturesque.  The  upper 
story  of  the  palace  is  a labyrinth  of  tiny  rooms,  some  of 
them  so  small  that,  standing  with  your  back  against  one  wall, 
you  can  touch  the  opposite  wall  with  your  hand.  It  was  here 
the  Duchess  Amalia  lived. 

“ I have  lived  here  fifty  years,”  said  Goethe  to  Eckermann, 
“ and  where  have  I not  been  ? but  I was  always  glad  to  re- 
turn to  Weimar.”  The  stranger  may  wonder  wherein  lies  the 
charm  ; but  a residence  at  Weimar  soon  reveals  the  secret. 
Among  the  charms  are  the  environs.  First  there  is  Etters- 
burg,  with  its  palace,  woods,  and  park,  some  seven  miles 
distant.  Then  there  is  Bercka  with  its  charming  valley,  dear 
to  all  pedestrians,  within  half  a dozen  miles ; a little  farther 
is  Jena  and  its  enchanting  valley,  from  whose  heights  we  look 
down  on  the  sombre  city,  rendered  illustrious  by  so  many 
sounding  names.  Jena  wras  to  science  what  Weimar  was  to 
poetry.  Assembled  there  were  men  like  Griesbach,  Paulus, 
Baumgarten-Crusius,  and  Danz,  to  teach  theology ; Schelling, 
Fichte,  Hegel,  Reinhold,  and  Fries,  to  teach  philosophy ; 
Loder,  Hufeland,  Oken,  Dobereiner,  to  teach  science  ; Luden, 
Schultz,  and  others,  for  history.  The  Schlegels  and  the 
Humboldts  also  lent  their  lustre  to  the  place.  Besides  Jena, 
we  must  mention  Ilmenau,  Eisenach,  the  Thuringian  forests, 
and  the  valley  of  the  Saal : environs  attractive  enough  for 
the  most  restless  wanderer. 

* If.  a fuller  description  be  desired,  the  reader  will  find  one  in  the 
charming  pages  of  Stahr’s  Weimar  und  Jena,  to  which  I take  this  occa- 
sion of  acknowledging  a large  debt. 


1775  J WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  ^5 


Having  thus  sketched  the  main  features  of  the  place,  it  will 
now  be  desirable  to  give  some  indication  of  the  times,  that  we 
may  understand  the  atmosphere  in  which  Goethe  lived.  Dif- 
ficult as  the  restoration  of  Weimar  has  been  to  me,  and  only 
possible  through  the  aid  of  what  still  remains  from  the  old 
time,  the  difficulty  has  been  tenfold  with  regard  to  the  more 
changing  aspects  of  society  and  opinion.  Curiously  enough 
the  Germans,  famous  for  writing  on  all  subjects,  have  pro- 
duced no  work  on  the  state  of  manners  and  the  domestic 
conditions  of  this  much-bewritten  period.  The  books  on 
Goethe  are  endless ; there  is  not  one  which  tells  us  of  the 
outwrard  circumstances  among  which  he  moved.  From  far 
and  wide  I have  gathered  together  some  details  which  may 
aid  in  forming  a picture. 

Remember  that  we  are  in  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  The  French  Revolution  is  as  yet  only  gathering  its 
forces  together ; nearly  twenty  years  must  elapse  before  the 
storm  breaks.  The  chasm  between  that  time  and  our  own  is 
vast  and  deep.  Every  detail  speaks  of  it.  To  begin  with 
Science,  — everywhere  the  torch  of,  civilization,  — it  is  enough 
to  say  that  Chemistry  did  not  then  exist.  Abundant  materi- 
als indeed  existed,  but  that  which  makes  a science,  namely,  the 
power  of  prevision  based  on  quantitative  knowledge,  was  still 
absent ; and  Alchemy  maintained  its  place  among  the  con- 
flicting hypotheses  of  the  day.  Goethe  in  Frankfurt  was 
busy  with  researches  after  the  “ virgin  earth.”  The  philoso- 
pher’s stone  had  many  eager  seekers.  In  1787,  Semler  sent 
to  the  Academy  of  Berlin  his  discovery  that  gold  grew  in  a 
certain  atmospheric  salt,  when  kept  moist  and  warm.  Kla- 
proth, in  the  name  of  the  Academy,  examined  this  salt,  and 
found  indeed  gold  leaf  in  it  — which  had  been  put  there  by 
Semler’s  servant  to  encourage  his  master’s  credulity.  This 
age,  so  incredulous  in  religion,  was  credulous  in  science- 


1 66  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 

In  spite  of  all  the  labors  of  the  encyclopedists,  in  spite  of 
all  the  philosophic  and  religious  “enlightenment,”  in  spite  of 
Voltaire  and  La  Mettrie,  it  was  possible  for  Count  St.  Ger- 
main and  Cagliostro  to  delude  thousands ; and  Casanova 
found  a dupe  in  the  Marquise  d’Urfe,  who  believed  he  could 
restore  her  youth,  and  make  the  moon  impregnate  her ! It 
was  in  1774  that  Mesmer  astonished  Vienna  with  his  marvels 
of  mystic  magnetism.  The  secret  societies  of  Freemasons 
and  Illuminati,  mystic  in  their  ceremonies  and  chimerical  in 
their  hopes,  — now  in  quest  of  the  philosopher’s  stone,  now  in 
quest  of  the  perfectibility  of  mankind,  — a mixture  of  religious, 
political,  and  mystical  reveries,  flourished  in  all  parts  of  Ger- 
many, and  in  all  circles. 

With  science  in  so  imperfect  a condition,  we  are  sure  to 
find  a corresponding  poverty  in  material  comfort  and  luxury. 
High-roads,  for  example,  were  only  found  in  certain  parts  of 
Germany;  Prussia  had  no  chaussee  till  1787.  Milestones 
were  unknown,  although  finger-posts  existed.  Instead  of  fa- 
cilitating the  transit  of  travellers,  it  was  thought  good  political 
economy  to  obstruct  them,  for  the  longer  they  remained  the 
more  money  they  spent  in  the  country.  A century  earlier, 
stage-coaches  were  known  in  England  ; but  in  Germany,  pub- 
lic conveyances,  very  rude  to  this  day  in  places  where  no 
railway  exists,  were  few  and  miserable ; nothing  but  open 
carts  with  unstuffed  seats.  Diligences  on  springs  were 
unknown  before  1800  ; and  what  they  were,  even  twenty 
years  ago,  many  readers  doubtless  remember.  Then  as  to 
speed.  In  1754  there  was  “the  flying  coach”  running  from 
Manchester  to  London,  but  taking  four  days  and  a half  on 
the  journey.  In  1763  there  was  a coach  between  Edinburgh 
and  London,  once  a month ; it  passed  twelve  or  fourteen 
days  on  the  road ; though  even  in  our  own  stage-coach  days 
the  distance  was  performed  in  forty-eight  hours.  And  as 


1775  ] WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  ify 


England  was  a busy  nation,  always  in  a hurry,  we  may  gather 
from  these  details  some  idea  of  the  rapidity  of  German  travel. 
Germans  were  not  flurried  by  agitations  as  to  loss  of  time  : if 
you  travelled  post,  it  was  said  with  pride  that  seldom  more 
than  an  hour’s  waiting  was  necessary  before  the  horses  were 
got  ready,  — at  least  on  frequented  routes.  Mail  travelling 
was  at  the  rate  of  five  English  miles  in  an  hour  and  a quarter. 
Letters  took  nine  days  from  Berlin  to  Frankfurt,  which  in 
1854  required  only  twenty-four  hours.  So  slow  was  the  com- 
munication of  news  that,  as  we  learn  from  the  Stein  corre- 
spondence, the  death  of  Frederick  the  Great  was  only  known 
in  Carlsbad  as  a rumor  a week  afterwards.  “ By  this 
time,”  writes  Goethe,  “you  must  know  in  Weimar  if  it  be 
true.”  With  these  obstacles  to  locomotion,  it  was  natural 
that  men  travelled  but  rarely,  and  mostly  on  horseback. 
What  the  inns  were  may  be  imagined  from  the  infrequency  of 
travellers,  and  the  general  state  of  domestic  comfort. 

The  absence  of  comfort  and  luxury  (luxury  as  distinguished 
from  ornament)  may  be  gathered  from  the  Memoirs  of  the 
time,  and  from  such  works  as  Bertuch’s  Mode  Journal.  Such 
necessities  as  good  locks,  doors  that  shut,  drawers  opening 
easily,  tolerable  knives,  carts  on  springs,  or  beds  fit  for  a 
Christian  of  any  other  than  “ the  German  persuasion,”  are 
still  (1854)  rarities  in  Thuringia;  but  in  those  days,  when 
sewers  were  undreamed  of,  and  a post-office  was  only  a vision, 
much  that  we  moderns  consider  as  comfort  was  necessarily 
wanting.  The  furniture,  even  of  palaces,  was  extremely  sim- 
ple. In  the  houses  of  wealthy  bourgeois,  chairs  and  tables 
were  of  common  deal ; not  until  the  close  of  the  eighteenth 
century  did  mahogany  make  its  appearance.  Looking-glasses 
followed.  The  chairs  were  covered  with  a coarse  green 
cloth ; the  tables  likewise  ; and  carpets  are  only  now  begin- 
ning to  loom  upon  the  national  mind  as  a possible  luxury. 


!68  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 

The  windows  were  hung  with  woollen  curtains,  when  the  ex- 
travagance of  curtains  was  ventured  on.  Easy-chairs  were 
unknown ; the  only  arm-chair  allowed  was  the  so-called 
grandfather' s chair , which  was  reserved  for  the  dignity  of 
gray  hairs,  or  the  feebleness  of  ill  health. 

The  salo?i  de  reception,  or  drawing-room,  into  which  greatly 
honored  visitors  were  shown,  had  of  course  a kind  of  Sunday 
splendor,  not  dimmed  by  week-day  familiarity.  There 
hung  the  curtains ; the  walls  were  adorned  with  family  por- 
traits or  some  work  of  native  talent ; the  tables  alluring  the 
eye  with  china,  in  guise  of  cups,  vases,  impossible  shepherds, 
and  very  allegorical  dogs.  Into  this  room  the  honored  vis- 
itor was  ushered ; and  there,  no  matter  what  the  hour,  re- 
freshment of  some  kind  was  handed.  This  custom  — a 
compound  product  of  hospitality  and  bad  inns — lingered  until 
lately  in  England,  and  perhaps  is  still  not  unknown  in  provin- 
x cial  towns. 

On  eating  and  drinking  was  spent  the  surplus  now  devoted 
to  finery.  No  one  then,  except  gentlemen  of  the  first  water, 
boasted  of  a gold  snuff-box;  even  a gold-headed  cane  was  an 
unusual  elegance.  The  dandy  contented  himself  with  a 
silver  watch.  The  fine  lady  blazoned  herself  with  a gold 
watch  and  heavy  chain  ; but  it  was  an  heirloom  ! Tp  see  a 
modern  dinner-service  glittering  with  silver,  glass,  and  china, 
and  to  think  that  even  the  nobility  in  those  days  ate  off  pew- 
ter, is  enough  to  make  the  lapse  of  time  very  vivid  to  us.  A 
silver  teapot  and  tea-tray  were  held  as  princely  magnificence. 

The  manners  were  rough  and  simple.  The  journeymen 
ate  at  the  same  table  with  their  masters,  and  joined  in  the 
coarse  jokes  which  then  passed  for  hilarity.  Filial  obedience 
was  rigidly  enforced ; the  stick  or  strap  not  unfrequently 
aiding  parental  authority.  Even  the  brothers  exercised  an 
almost  paternal  authority  over  their  sisters.  Indeed,  the  posi- 


1775  ] WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  j6g 


tion  of  women  was  by  no  means  such  as  our  women  can  hear 
of  with  patience  ; not  only  were  they  kept  under  the  paternal, 
marital,  and  fraternal  yoke,  but  society  limited  their  actions 
by  its  prejudices  still  more  than  it  does  now.  No  woman  of 
the  better  class  of  citizens  could  go  out  alone ; the  servant- 
girl  followed  her  to  church,  to  a shop,  or  even  to  the  prom- 
enade. 

The  coarseness  of  language  may  be  imagined  from  our 
own  literature  of  that  period.  The  roughness  of  manners  is 
shown  by  such  a scene  as  that  in  Wilhelm  Meister , where  the 
Schone  Seele  in  her  confessions  (speaking  of  high,  well-born 
society),  narrates  how,  at  an  evening  party,  forfeits  were  intro- 
duced ; one  of  these  forfeits  is,  that  a gentleman  shall  say 
something  gallant  to  every  lady  present ; he  whispers  in  the 
ear  of  a lady,  who  boxes  his  ears,  and  boxes  with  such  vio- 
lence that  the  powder  from  his  hair  flies  into  a lady’s  eyes ; 
when  she  is  enabled  to  see  again,  it  is  to  see  that  the  husband 
of  the  lady  has  drawn  his  sword,  and  stabbed  the  offender, 
and  that  a duel,  in  the  very  presence  of  these  women,  is  only 
prevented  by  one  of  the  combatants  being  dragged  from  the 
room. 

The  foregoing  survey  would  be  incomplete  without  some 
notice  of  the  prices  of  things ; the  more  so  as  we  shall  learn 
hereafter  that  the  pension  Karl  August  gave  Schiller  was  200 
thalers,  — about  30  /.  of  our  money ; that  the  salary  of  Seck- 
endorf  as  Kammerherr  vwls  only  600  thalers,  or  about  100/.  ; 
and  that  the  salary  Goethe  received,  as  Councillor  of  Lega- 
tion, was  only  1,200  thalers,  about  200/.  per  annum.  It  is 
necessary  I should  indicate  something  like  the  real  relation 
of  these  sums  to  the  expense  of  living.  We  find,  in  Schiller’s 
correspondence  with  Korner,  that  he  hires  a riding-horse  for 
sixpence  a day  (Vol.  I.  p.  84),  and  gets  a manuscript  fairly 
copied  at  the  rate  of  three  halfpence  a sheet  of  sixteen  pages 
8 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE . [book  iv. 


170 

(Vol.  I.  p.  92);  with  us  the  charge  is  twopence  for  every 
seventy-two  words : the  whole  of  Don  Carlos  cost  but  three 
and  sixpence  for  copying.  He  hires  a furnished  apartment, 
consisting  of  two  rooms  and  a bedroom,  for  two  pounds 
twelve  and  sixpence  a quarter  (Charlotte  von  Kalb  writing  to 
Jean  Paul,  November,  1776,  says  his  lodgings  will  only  cost 
him  ten  dollars,  or  thirty  shillings,  a quarter) ; while  his  male 
servant,  who  in  case  of  need  can  act  as  secretary,  is  to  be 
had  for  eighteen  shillings  a quarter  (Vol.  I.  p.  m).  Reckon- 
ing up  his  expenses,  he  says,  “Washing,  servants,  the  barber, 
and  such  things,  all  paid  quarterly,  and  none  exceeding  six 
shillings  : so  that,  speaking  in  round  numbers,  I shall  hardly 
need  more  than  four  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  ” (Vol.  II.  p. 
94) ; that  is,  about  70  /.  a year.  Even  when  he  is  married, 
and  sees  a family  growing  round  him,  he  says,  “ With  eight 
hundred  dollars  I can  live  here,  in  Jena,  charmingly,  — rechi 
ariig”  (Vol.  II.  p.  153). 

It  is  evident  that  in  Weimar  they  led  no  very  sumptuous 
life.  A small  provincial  town  overshadowed  by  a Court,  its 
modes  of  life  were  the  expression  of  this  contrast.  The  peo- 
ple, a slow,  heavy,  ungraceful,  ignorant,  but  good-natured, 
happy,  honest  race,  feeding  on  black  bread  and  sausages. 
Rising  higher,  there  were  the  cultivated  classes  of  employees, 
artists,  and  professors  ; and  higher  still,  the  aristocracy.  In 
the  theatre,  until  1825,  the  nobility  alone  were  allowed  ad- 
mission to  the  boxes ; and  when  the  Jena  students  crowded 
the  pit,  elbowing  out  the  Weimar  public,  that  public  was 
forced  to  return  home,  or  jostle  with  the  students  for  seats  in 
pit  and  gallery.  Even  when  the  theatre  was  rebuilt,  and  the 
bourgeoisie  was  permitted  a place  in  the  boxes,  its  place  was 
on  the  left  side  of  the  house,  the  right  being  rigorously  re- 
served for  the  Vons.  This  continued  until  1848  ; since  that 
year  of  revolutions  the  public  has  had  the  place  it  can  pay  for. 


1775-]  WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 


It  is  quite  true,  the  Weimar  court  but  little  corresponded 
with  those  conceptions  of  grandeur,  magnificence,  and  his- 
torical or  political  importance,  with  which  the  name  of  court 
is  usually  associated.  But  just  as  in  gambling  the  feelings 
are  agitated  less  by  the  greatness  of  the  stake  than  by  the 
variations  of  fortune,  so  in  the  social  gambling  of  court  in- 
trigue, there  is  the  same  ambition  and  agitation,  whether  the 
green  cloth  be  an  empire  or  a duchy.  Within  its  limits  Saxe 
Weimar  displayed  all  that  an  imperial  court  displays  in  larger 
proportions  : it  had  its  ministers,  its  army,  its  chamberlains, 
pages,  and  sycophants.  Court  favor  and  disgrace  elevated 
and  depressed,  as  if  they  had  been  imperial  smiles  or  auto- 
cratic frowns.  A standing  army  of  six  hundred  men,  with 
cavalry  of  fifty  hussars,  had  its  War  Department,  with  war 
minister,  secretary,  and  clerk.* 

As  the  nobles  formed  the  predominating  element  of  Wei- 
mar, we  see  at  once  how,  in  spite  of  the  influence  of  Karl 
August,  and  the  remarkable  men  he  assembled  round  him, 
no  real  public  for  Art  could  be  found  there.  Some  of  the 
courtiers  played  more  or  less  with  Art,  some  had  real  feeling 
for  it ; but  the  majority  set  decided  faces  against  all  the  beaux 
esprits . When  the  Duchess  Amalia  travelled  with  Merck  in 
1778,  Weimar  was  loud  in  anticipatory  grumblings:  “She 
will  doubtless  bring  back  some  bel  esprit  picked  up  en  route ! ” 
was  the  common  cry.  And  really  when  we  have  learned,  as 
we  shall  learn  in  a future  chapter,  the  habits  of  these  beaux 
esprits , and  their  way  of  making  life  “genial,”  impartiality 
will  force  us  to  confess  that  this  imperfect  sympathy  on  the 
part  of  the  Vons  was  not  without  its  reason. 

Not  without  profound  significance  is  this  fact  that  in  Wei- 

* Lest  this  should  appear  too  ridiculous,  I will  add  that  one  of  the 
small  German  princes  (the  Graf  von  Limburg  Styrum)  kept  a corps  of 
hussars,  which  consisted  of  a colonel,  six  officers,  and  two  privates  ! 


172 


THE . STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


mar  the  poet  found  a Circle,  but  no  Public.  To  welcome  his 
productions  there  were  friends  and  admirers ; there  was  no 
Nation.  Germany  had  no  public  ; nor  has  it  to  this  day.  It 
was,  and  is,  a collection  of  cities,  not  a Nation.*  To  appre- 
ciate by  contrast  the  full  significance  of  such  a condition  we 
must  look  at  Greece  and  Rome.  There  the  history  of  Art 
tells  the  same  story  as  is  everywhere  told  by  the  history  of 
human  effort.  It  tells  us  that  to  reach  the  height  of  perfec- 
tion there  must  be  the  co-operation  of  the  Nation  with  indi- 
vidual Genius.  Thus  it  is  necessary  for  the  development  of 
science  that  science  should  cease  to  be  the  speculation  of  a 
few,  and  become  the  minister  of  the  many ; from  the  con- 
stant pressure  of  unsatisfied  wants,  Science  receives  its  ener- 
getic stimulus ; and  its  highest  reward  is  the  satisfaction 
of  those  wants.  In  Art  the  same  law  holds.  The  whole 
Athenian  Nation  co-operated  with  its  artists  ; and  this'  is  one 
cause  why  Athenian  Art  rose  into  unsurpassed  splendor. 
Art  was  not  the  occupation  of  a few,  ministering  to  the  lux- 
ury of  a few ; it  was  the  luxury  of  all.  Its  triumphs  were 
not  hidden  in  galleries  and  museums  ; they  blazed  in  the 
noonday  sun  ; they  were  admired  and  criticised  by  the  whole 
people  ; and,  as  Aristotle  expressly  says,  every  free  citizen 
was  from  youth  upwards  a critic  of  Art.  Sophocles  wrote  for 
all  Athens,  and  by  all  Athens  was  applauded.  The  theatre 
was  open  to  all  free  citizens.  Phidias  and  Praxiteles,  Scopas 
and  Myron,  wrought  their  marvels  in  brass  arid  marble,  as 
expressions  of  a national  faith,  for  the  delights  of  a national 
mind.  Temples  and  market-places,  public  groves  and  public 
walks,  were  the  galleries  wherein  these  sculptors  placed  their 
works.  The  public  treasury  was  liberal  in  its  rewards ; and 
the  rivalry  of  private  munificence  was  not  displayed  to  secure 
works  for  private  galleries,  but  to  enrich  the  public  pos- 


The  reader  must  remember  this  was  written  in  1854. 


1775-]  WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  ^3 


sessions.  In  this  spirit  the  citizens  of  Cnidos  chose  to  con- 
tinue the  payment  of  an  onerous  tribute  rather  than  suffer 
their  statue  of  Venus  to  quit  their  city.  And  when  some 
murmurs  rose  against  the  expense  which  Pericles  was  incur- 
ring in  the  building  of  the  Parthenon,  he  silenced  those  mur- 
murs by  the  threat  of  furnishing  the  money  from  his  private 
purse,  and  then  placing  his  name  on  the  majestic  work. 

Stahr,  who  has  eloquently  described  the  effects  of  such 
national  co-operation  in  Art,  compares  the  similar  influence 
of  publicity  during  the  Middle  Ages,  when  the  great  painters 
and  sculptors  placed  their  works  in  cathedrals,  — open  all 
day  long,  in  council-houses  and  market-places,  whither  the 
people  thronged,  — with  the  fact  that  in  our  day  Art  finds 
refuge  in  the  galleries  of  private  persons,  or  in  museums 
closed  on  Sundays  and  holidays.* 

Nor  is  this  all.  The  effect  of  Art  upon  the  Nation  is  visi- 
ble in  the  striking  fact  that  in  Greece  and  Rome  the  truly 
great  men  were  crowned  by  the  public,  not  neglected  for  any 
artist  who  pandered  to  the  fashion  and  the  tastes  of  the  few, 
or  who  flattered  the  first  impressions  of  the  many.  It  was 
young  Phidias  whom  the  Athenians  chose  to  carve  the  statue 
of  Pallas  Athene,  and  to  build  the  Parthenon.  Suppose 
Phidias  had  been  an  Englishman,  would  he  have  been 
selected  by  government  to  give  the  nation  a statue  of  Wel- 
lington, or  to  build  the  Houses  of  Parliament  ? The  names 
most  reverenced  by  contemporaries,  in  Greece  and  in  Italy, 
- are  the  names  which  posterity  has  declared  to  be  the  high- 
est. Necessarily  so.  The  verdict  of  the  public,  when  that 
public  includes  the  whole  intelligence  of  the  nation,  must  be 
the  correct  verdict  in  Art. 

We  may  now  glance  at  the  Court  of  the  reigning  Duke 
and  Duchess,  — Karl  August  and  Luise. 

* See  his  Torso,  pp.  147-  151. 


174 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  iv. 


Of  the  Duchess  Luise  no  one  ever  speaks  but  in  terms  of 
veneration.  She  was  one  of  those  rare  beings  who,  through 
circumstances  the  most  trying,  as  well  as  through  the  ordinary 
details  of  life,  manifest  a noble  character.  The  Queen  of 
Prussia  and  the  Duchess  of  Saxe-Weimar  are  two  of  the 
great  figures  in  modern  German  history  ; they  both  opposed 
the  chief  man  of  the  age,  Napoleon,  and  were  both  admired 
by  him  for  that  very  opposition.  Luise  was  of  a cold  tem- 
perament, somewhat  rigid  in  her  enforcement  of  etiquette, 
and  wore  to  the  last  the  old  costume  which  had  been  the 
fashion  in  her  youth  ; apt  in  the  early  years  of  her  marriage 
to  be  a little  querulous  with  her  husband,  but  showing 
throughout  their  lives  a real  and  noble  friendship  for  him. 

And  he  was  worthy  of  that  friendship,  much  as  his  strange 
and  in  many  respects  opposite  nature  may  have  tried  her. 
Karl  August,  whom  Frederick  the  Great  pronounced,  at 
fourteen,  to  be  the  prince,  of  all  he  had  seen,  who  gave 
the  greatest  promise,  was  in  truth  a very  mixed,  but  very 
admirable,  character.  He  can  afford  to  be  looked  at  more 
closely  and  familiarly  than  most  princes.  He  was  a man 
whose  keen  appreciation  of  genius  not  only  drew  the  most 
notable  men  of  the  day  to  Weimar,  but  whose  own  intrinsi- 
cally fine  qualities  kept  them  there.  It  is  easy  for  a prince  to 
assemble  men  of  talent.  It  is  not  easy  for  a prince  to  make 
them  remain  beside  him,  in  the  full  employment  of  their  facul- 
ties, and  in  reasonable  enjoyment  of  their  position.  Karl 
August  was  the  prince  who  with  the  smallest  means  produced 
the  greatest  result  in  Germany.  He  was  a man  of  restless 
activity.  His  eye  was  on  every  part  of  his  dominions  ; his 
endeavors  to  improve  the  condition  of  the  people  were  con- 
stant. The  recently  published  correspondence  shows  how 
active  were  his  intellectual  sympathies.  In  his  tastes  no  man 
in  Germany  was  so  simple,  except  his  dearest  friend,  Goethe, 


1775-]  WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  j 75 


with  whom,  indeed,  he  had  many  cardinal  points  in  common. 
I remember,  on  first  seeing  their  busts  together,  being  struck 
with  a sort  of  faint  family  resemblance  between  them.  Karl 
August  might  have  been  a younger  brother,  considerably  “ ani- 
alized,”  but  still  belonging  to  the  family.  They  had  both,  on 
the  paternal  side,  Thuringian  blood  in  their  veins  ; and  in 
many  respects  Amalia  and  Frau  Aja  were  akin.  But  while 
Karl  August  had  the  active,  healthy,  sensuous,  pleasure- 
loving  temperament  of  his  friend,  he  wanted  the  tact  which 
never  allowed  Goethe,  except  in  his  wildest  period,  to  over- 
step limits  ; he  wanted  the  tenderness  and  chivalry  which 
made  the  poet  so  uniformly  acceptable  to  women.  He  was 
witty,  but  his  bonmots  are  mostly  of  that  kind  which,  repeated 
after  dinner,  are  not  considered  fit  for  drawing-room  publica- 
tion. Very  characteristic  is  it  of  him,  who  had  bestow’ed  un- 
usual pains  incollecting  a Bibliotheca  Erotica , that  when  Schil- 
ler wrote  the  Maid  of  Orleans  he  fancied  Schiller  was  going  to 
give  another  version  of  La  Pucelle , and  abetted  his  mistress, 
the  Frau  von  Heygendorf,  in  her  refusal  to  play  the  part  of 
the  rehabilitated  Maiden  ! He  was  rough,  soldierly,  brusque, 
and  imperious.  He  was  at  home,  when  in  garrison  with 
Prussian  soldiers,  but  out  of  his  element  when  at  foreign 
Courts,  and  not  always  at  ease  in  his  own.  Goethe  describes 
him  longing  for  his  pipe  at  the  Court  of  Brunswick  in  1774  : 
“ De  son  cotd  notre  bon  Due  s’ennuie  terriblement,  il 
cherche  un  interet,  il  n’y  voudrait  pas  etre  pour  rien,  la 
marche  tres  bien  mesuree  de  tout  ce  qu’on  fait  ici  le  gene,  il 
faut  qu’il  renonce  a sa  chere  pipe,  et  une  fee  ne  pourroit  lui 
rendre  un  service  plus  agreable  qu’en  changeant  ce  palais 
dans  une  cabane  de  charbonnier.”  * 

In  a letter  (unprinted)  he  writes  to  Goethe,  then  at  Jena, 

* Briefe  an  Frau  von  Stein , III.  p.'  85.  The  French  is  Goethe’s  as 
also  the  spelling  and  accentuation,  or  rather  want  of  accentuation. 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


176 

saying  be  longs  to  be  with  him  to  watch  sunrise  and  sunset, 
for  he  can’t  see  the  sunset  in  Gotha,  hidden  as  it  is  by  the 
crowd  of  courtiers,  who  are  so  comme  il  faut,  and  know  their 
“ fish  duty  ” with  such  terrible  accuracy,  that  every  evening 
he  feels  inclined  to  give  himself  to  the  devil.  His  delight, 
when  not  with  soldiers,  was  to  be  with  dogs,  or  with  his  poet 
alone  in  their  simple  houses,  discussing  philosophy,  and 
“ talking  of  lovely  things  that  conquer  death.”  He  mingled 
freely  with  the  people.  At  Ilmenau  he  and  Goethe  put  on 
the  miners’  dress,  descended  into  the  mines,  and  danced  all 
night  with  peasant-girls.  Riding  across  country,  over  rock 
and  stream,  in  manifest  peril  of  his  neck ; teasing  the  maids 
of  honor,  sometimes  carrying  this  so  far  as  to  offend  his  more 
princely  wife ; wandering  alone  with  his  dogs,  or  with  some 
joyous  companion  ; seeking  excitement  in  wine,  and  in  mak- 
ing love  to  pretty  women,  without  much  respect  of  station  ; of- 
fending by  his  roughness  and  wilfulness,  though  never  estrang- 
ing his  friends, — Karl  August,  often  grieving  his  admirers, 
was,  with  all  his  errors,  a genuine  and  admirable  character. 
His  intellect  was  active  ; his  judgment,  both  of  men  and 
things,  sound  and  keen.  Once,  when  there  was  a discussion 
about  appointing  Fichte  as  professor  at  Jena,  one  of  the  op- 
ponents placed  a work  of  Fichte’s  in  the  Duke’s  hands,  as 
sufficient  proof  that  such  a teacher  could  not  hold  a chair. 
Karl  August  read  the  book,— and  appointed  Fichte.  He 
had  great  aims  ; he  also  had  the  despotic  will  which  bends 
circumstances  to  its  determined  issues.  “ He  was  always  in 
progress,”  said  Goethe  to  Eckermann ; “ when  anything  failed, 
he  dismissed  it  at  once  from  his  mind.  I often  bothered  my- 
self how  to  excuse  this  or  that  failure  ; but  he  ignored  every 
shortcoming  in  the  cheerfullest  way,  and  always  went  for- 
ward to  something  new.” 

Such  was  Karl  August,  as  I conceive  him  from  the  letters 


1775-]  WEIMAR  IN  THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.  lyy 


of  the  period,  and  from  the  reports  of  those  who  knew  him. 
Eight  years  younger  than  Goethe,  he  attached  himself  to  him 
as  to  a brother.  We  shall  see  this  attachment  and  its  recip- 
rocal influence  in  the  following  pages ; clouds  sometimes 
gather,  quarrels  and  dissatisfaction  are  not  absent,  (from  what 
long  friendship  are  they  absent?)  but  fifty  years  of  mutual 
service  and  mutual  love  proved  the  genuineness  of  both  their 
characters. 

Herder  did  not  come  to  Weimar  till  after  Goethe,  and  in- 
deed was  drawn  thither  by  Goethe,  whose  admiration  for  him, 
begun  at  Strasburg,  continued  unabated.  The  strange  bitter- 
ness and  love  of  sarcasm  in  Herder’s  nature,  which  could  not 
repel  the  young  student,  did  not  alter  the  affection  of  the 
man.  In  one  of  Goethe’s  unpublished  letters  to  the  Duch- 
ess Amalia,  there  is  an  urgent  appeal  on  behalf  of  Herder, 
whose  large  family  had  to  be  supported  on  very  straitened 
means ; the  Duke  had  promised  to  provide  for  one  of  the 
children,  and  Goethe  writes  to  Amalia,  begging  her  to  do  the 
same  for  another.  No  answer  coming  to  this  appeal,  or  at 
any  rate  no  prompt  notice  being  taken,  he  writes  again  more 
urgently,  adding,  that  if  she  does  not  provide  for  the  child, 
he  (Goethe),  out  of  his  small  income,  will ! And  this  was  at 
a time  when  Herder  was  most  bitter  against  Goethe.  Well 
might  Merck  exclaim,  “ No  one  can  withstand  the  disinter- 
estedness of  this  man ! ” - 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  FIRST  WILD  WEEKS  AT  WEIMAR. 

This  was  the  Weimar  which  Goethe  entered  in  all  the 
splendor  of  youth,  beauty,  and  fame,  — Youth,  which,  accord- 

8*  L 


i;8 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


ing  to  the  fine  conception  of  the  Greeks,  is  “the  herald  of 
Venus”  ; Beauty,  which  those  Greeks  adored  as  the  splendor 
of  Truth  ; and  Fame,  which  has  at  all  times  been  a halo  daz- 
zling to  mortal  eyes.  Thus  equipped  for  conquest,  how  can 
we  wonder  that  he  conquered  ? Even  the  Duchess  Amalia, 
angry  with  him  for  having  ridiculed  her  darling  Wieland, 
could  not  withstand  the  magic  of  his  presence.  Her  love  of 
genius  left  her  no  choice.  She  was  fascinated  by  his  wild 
ways,  and  by  his  splendid  talents.  One  moment  he  startled 
her  with  a paradox,  the  next  moment  he  sprang  from  his  seat, 
waltzing  and  whirling  round  the  room  with  antics  which  made 
her  scream  with  laughter.  And  Wieland  ? — he  was  con- 
quered at  once.  He  shall  speak  for  himself,  in  a letter  writ- 
ten after  their  first  interview  : — “ How  perfectly  I felt,  at  the 
first  glance,  he  was  a man  after  my  own  heart ! How  I loved 
the  magnificent  youth  as  I sat  beside  him  at  table ! All  that 
I can  say  (after  more  than  one  crisis  which  I have  endured) 
is  this  : since  that  morning  my  soul  is  as  full  of  Goethe  as  a 

dew-drop  of  the  morning  sun I believe  the  godlike 

creature  will  remain  longer  with  us  than  he  intended;  and  if 
Weimar  can  do  anything,  his  presence  will  accomplish  it.” 
This  is  very  honorable  to  Wieland  : Nestor  gazes  with  unen- 
vious  delight  upon  the  young  Achilles.  Heroic  eyes  are  al- 
ways proud  to  recognize  heroic  proportions. 

After  Wieland  and  the  Duchess,  the  rest  were  easy  to  con- 
quer. “He  rose  like  a star  in  the- heavens,”  says  Knebel. 
“ Everybody  worshipped  him,  especially  the  women.”  In  the 
costume  of  his  own  Werther , which  was  instantly  adopted  by 
the  Duke,  he  seemed  the  ideal  of  a poet.  To  moderns  there 
are  no  very  sentimental  suggestions  in  a costume  which  was 
composed  of  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  top-boots,  and 
leather  breeches,  the  whole  surmounted  by  powder  and  pig- 
tail ; but  in  those  days  this  costume  was  the  suggestion  of 


1775*]  THE  FIRST  WILD  WEEKS  AT  WEIMAR. 


179 


everything  tender  and  romantic.  Werther  had  consecrated  it.* 
The  Duke  not  only  adopted  it,  but  made  all  around  him  adopt 
it  also,  sometimes  paying  the  tailor’s  bill  himself.  Wieland 
alone  was  excepted  ; he  was  too  old  for  such  masqueradings. 

Thoroughly  to  appreciate  the  effect  of  Goethe’s  influence 
with  women,  we  must  remember  the  state  of  feeling  and  opin- 
ion at  the  time.  Those  were  the  days  of  gallantry,  the  days 
of 

“ Puffs,  paints,  and  patches,  powders,  billets  doux.” 

The  laxity  of  German  morals  differed  from  the  more  auda- 
cious licentiousness  of  France  : it  had  sentimentalism,  in  lieu 
of  gayety  and  luxuriousness,  for  its  basis.  \The  heart  of  a 
French  marquise  was  lost  over  a supper-table  sparkling  with 
champagne  and  bonmots  ; the  heart  of  a German  Grafin  yielded 
more  readily  to  moonlight,  melancholy,  and  a copy  of  verses. 
Wit  and  audacity  were  the  batteries  for  a Frenchwoman  ; 
the  German  was  stormed  with  sonnets,  and  a threat  of  sui- 
cide. For  the  one,  Lothario  needed  sprightliness  and  bon 
ton;  for  the  other,  turbulent  disgust  at  all  social  arrangements, 
expressed  in  interjection al  rhetoric,  and  a deportment  outra- 
geous to  all  conventions.  It  is  needless  to  add  that  marriage 
was  to  a great  extent  what  Sophie  Arnould  with  terrible  wit 
called  it, — “the  sacrament  of  adultery”;  and  that  on  the 
subject  of  the  sexes  the  whole  tone  of  feeling  was  low.  Poor, 
simple,  earnest  Schiller,  whom  no  one  will  accuse  of  laxity, 
admired  Les  Liaisons  Danger  eases,  and  saw  no  reason  why 
women  should  not  read  it;  although  to  our  age  the  infamy  of 
that  book  is  so  great  as  to  stamp  a brand  upon  the  society 
which  produced  and  applauded  it.  Yet  even  Schiller,  who 
admired  this  book,  was  astounded  at  the  condition  of  women 

* It  should  be  remembered,  that  in  Germany,  at  that  time,  boots  were 
only  worn  in  very  bad  weather  ; and  in  the  presence  of  women  no  one 
ever  appeared,  except  in  shoes  and  silk  stockings. 


I So  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 

at  Weimar.  “ There  is  hardly  one  of  them,”  he  writes  to 
Korner,  “ who  has  not  had  a liaison . They  are  all  coquettes. 
....  One  may  very  easily  fall  into  an  ‘ affair  of  the  heart/ 
though  it  will  not  last  any  time.”  It  was  thought,  apparently, 
that  since  Eros  had  wings,  he  must  use  them — and  fly. 

With  this  tone  of  society  we  can  understand  how,  as  Goethe 
in  after-life  confessed  to  Eckermann,  the  first  years  at  Weimar 
were  perplexed  with  love-affairs.  A great  admirer  of  women, 
and  greatly  admired  by  them,  it  was  natural  he  should  fall 
into  their  snares.  Many  charmers  are  named ; among  them, 
Fraulein  von  Kalb,  Coroner  Schroter,  and  Kotzebue’s  sister, 
Amalia  : but  I am  bound  to  say,  that,  after  the  most  diligent 
inquiry,  I can  find  no  reliable  evidence  for  believing  any  one 
of  those  named  to  have  been  really  loved  by  him.  We  must 
content  ourselves  with  the  fact  of  his  having  flirted  consider- 
ably : making  love  to  every  bright  pair  of  eyes  which  for  a 
moment  could  make  him  believe  what  he  said. 

For  the  first  few  months  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  excite- 
ment of  this  new  life.  Among  other  things  he  introduced 
skating.  Weimar  had  hitherto  seen  no  gentleman  on  the  ice  ; 
but  now,  Klopstock  having  made  skating  famous  by  his  poetry, 
Goethe  made  it  fashionable  by  his  daring  grace.  The  Duchess 
soon  excelled  in  the  art.  Skating  on  the  Schwansee  became 
“ the  rage.”  Sometimes  the  banks  were  illuminated  with 
lamps  and  torches,  and  music  and  fire-works  animated  the 
scene.  The  Duchess  and  ladies,  masked  as  during  carnival, 
were  driven  in  sledges  over  the  noisy  ice.  “ We  are  somewhat 
mad  here,”  Goethe  writes  to  Merck,  “ and  play  the  devil’s 
own  game.”  Wieland’s  favorite  epithet  for  him  was  wiithig , — 
outrageous  ; and  wiithig  he  was.  Strange  stories  are  told  of 
him,  now  dashing  across  the  ice,  now  loosening  his  long  hair 
in  Bertuch’s  room,  and,  with  locks  flowing  over  his  shoulders, 
whirling  round  in  mad  Bacchante  waltz  ; and  finally,  standing 


1775-]  THE  FIRST  WILD  WEE  ATS  AT  WEIMAR. 


8l 


in  the  Jena  market-place  with  the  Duke,  by  the  hour  together, 
smacking  huge  sledge-whips  for  a wager.  Imagine  a Duke 
and  a Poet  thus  engaged  in  a public  market-place ! 

His  constant  companion,  and  in  all  deviltries  and  dissipa- 
tion his  most  jovial  associate,  was  Karl  August.  All  ceremony 
was  laid  aside  between  them.  They  dined  together,  often 
shared  the  same  bedroom,  and  called  each  other  by  the  broth- 
erly thou.  “ Goethe  will  never  leave  this  place  again,”  writes 
Wieland ; “ K.  A.  can  no  longer  swim  or  wade  without  him. 
The  court,  or  rather  his  liaison  with  the  Duke,  wastes  his 
time,  which  is  really  a great  pity ; and  yet,  with  so  magnifi- 
cent and  godlike  a creature  nothing  is  ever  lost!”  Wei- 
mar was  startled  in  its  more  respectable  circles  by  the  conduct 
of  these  two,  and  their  associates  : conduct  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  period  named  “ the  genial.”  * In  their  orgies  they 
drank  wine  out  of  skulls  (as  Byron  and  his  friends  did  in  their 
wild  days),  and  in  ordinary  intercourse  exhibited  but  a very 
mitigated  respect  for  meum  and  tuum , borrowing  handkerchiefs 
and  waistcoats  which  were  never  returned.  The  favorite 
epithet  of  that  day  was  “ infinite  ” : Genius  drank  infinitely, 
loved  infinitely,  and  swallowed  infinite  sausages. 

But  the  poet’s  nature  soon  wearies  of  such  scenes.  After 
some  two  months  of  dissipation  in  masking,  skating,  hunting, 
drinking,  and  dicing,  the  want  to  be  once  more  among  simple 
people  and  lovely  scenes  drove  him  away  from  Weimar  to 
Waldeck.  Amid  the  crowded  tumult  of  life  he  ever  kept  his 
soul  sequestered ; and  from  the  hot  air  of  society  he  broke 
impatiently  away  to  the  serenity  of  solitude.  While  on  this 
journey  along  the  pine-clad  mountains,  there  came  over  him 
a feeling  of  the  past,  in  which  the  image  of  Lili  painfully  reap- 
peared. 

* It  is  difficult  to  find  an  English  word  to  express  the  German  genial , 
which  means  pertaining  to  genius.  The  genial  period  was  the  period 
when  every  extravagance  was  excused  on  the  plea  of  genius. 


1 82 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv- 


He  was  called  back  to  Weimar  by  the  Duke,  impatient  of 
his  absence ; and,  while  debating  in  his  own  mind  whether 
he  should  accept  a place  there,  or  return  to  Frankfurt,  he  be- 
gan to  take  his  seat,  as  a guest,  in  the  Privy  Council.  He 
had  tried  the  Court,  and  now  he  was  about  to  try  what  virtue 
lay  in  government.  “ I am  here  as  if  at  home,”  so  runs  one 
of  his  letters,  “ and  the  Duke  daily  becomes  dearer  to  me.” 
Indeed  his  father’s  prognostications  had  failed.  The  con- 
nection between  his  son  and  the  Duke  was  of  a totally 
different  kind  from  that  between  Voltaire  and  Frederick.  In 
secret  Voltaire  despised  the  verses  of  his  patron,  and  his 
patron  in  secret  despised  the  weakness  of  Voltaire.  A few 
unguarded  expressions  were  enough  to  snap  the  link  which 
bound  them  together;  but  a lifetime  only  deepened  the 
friendship  of  Goethe  and  Karl  August.  Nor  must  it  be  sup- 
posed that  their  friendship  was  merely  that  of  boon  com- 
panions. Both  had  high  aims  and  strong  wills.  Prince 
Hal  might  recreate  himself  with  Falstaff,  Pistol,  Bardolph, 
and  the  rest;  but,  while  chucking  Mrs.  Quickly  under  the 
chin,  he  knew  he  was  one  day  to  be  England’s  lord.  Karl 
August  and  Goethe  were  not  the  men  to  lose  themselves  in 
the  fleeting  hours  of  dissipation  ; serious,  steady  business  was 
transacted  almost  the  moment  before  some  escapade.  In 
their  retreat  at  Ilmenau  the  poet  writes : “ My  Karl  and  I 
here  forget  the  strange  mysterious  Fate  which  guides  us  ; 
and  I feel  that  in  these  quiet  moments  we  are  preparing  for 
new  scenes.”  Yes,  they  learned  “ in  the  happy  present  to 
forecast  the  future.” 

The  Duke  knew  what  he  was  doing  when  he  overstepped 
all  precedent,  and,  in  June,  1776,  elected  Goethe  to  the  post 
of  Geheime  Legations  Rath,  with  a seat  and  voice  in  the 
Privy  Council,  and  a salary  of  twelve  hundred  thalers.  In 
writing  to  Goethe’s  father,  the  Duke  intimated  that  there  was 


1775-]  THE  FIRST  WILD  WEE  ATS  AT  WEIMAR.  ^3 

absolute  freedom  of  leaving  the  service  at  will,  and  that  in- 
deed the  appointment  was  a mere  formality,  no  measure  of 
his  affection.  “ Goethe  can  have  but  one  position,  — that  of 
my  friend.  All  others  are  beneath  him.” 

The  post  of  Geheime  Legations  Rath  at  Weimar  is  not  a 
very  magnificent  post ; and  the  salary  of  twelve  hundred 
thalers  (about  two  hundred  pounds)  seems  still  less  magnifi- 
cent when  we  remember  that  at  that  period  the  King  of 
Prussia  gave  the  Barberini,  an  Italian  dancer,  exact- 
ly ten  times  the  sum.  But,  such  as  it  was,  the  appointment 
created  great  noise.  Weimar  was  aghast.  The  favor  shown 
to  Wieland  had  not  passed  without  scandal ; but  alarming 
indeed  was  this  elevation  of  a Frankfurt  bourgeois.  A poet, 
who  had  gone  through  none  of  the  routine  of  business,  whose 
life  was  anything  but  “respectable,”  to  be  lifted  suddenly 
over  the  plodding  heads  of  legitimate  aspirants  ! If  this  was 
to  be,  what  reward  could  meritorious  mediocrity  expect  ? 
what  advantage  had  slowly  acquired  routiniary  knowledge  ? 

So  murmured  scandalized  officials  and  their  friends.  At 
last  these  murmurs  expressed  themselves  distinctly  in  the 
shape  of  a protest.  The  Duke  thought  the  act  worthy  of  a 
deliberate  justification,  and  with  his  own  hand  added  these 
words  to  the  protocol  of  the  acts  of  his  ministry:  “Enlight- 
ened persons  congratulate  me  on  possessing  such  a man. 
His  genius  and  capacity  are  well  known.  To  employ  a man 
of  such  a stamp  in  any  other  functions  than  those  in  which 
he  can  render  available  the  extraordinary  gifts  he  possesses, 
is  to  abuse  them.  As  to  the  observation  that  persons  of 
merit  may  think  themselves  unjustly  passed  over  : I observe, 
in  the  first  place,  that  nobody,  to  my  knowledge,  in  my  service 
has  a right  to  reckon  on  an  equal  degree  of  favor  ; and  I 
add  that  I will  never  consent  to  be  governed  by  mere  length 
of  service  or  rotation  in  my  choice  of  a person  whose  func- 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


184 

tions  place  him  in  such  immediate  relation  to  myself,  and  are 
so  important  to  the  happiness  of  my  people*  In  such  a case 
I shall  attend  to  nothing  but  the  degree  of  confidence  I can 
repose  in  the  person  of  my  choice.  The  public  opinion 
which  perhaps  censures  the  admission  of  Dr.  Goethe  to  my 
council  without  having  passed  through  the  previous  steps  of 
Amtmann,  Professor,  Kammerrath,  or  Regierungsrath,  pro- 
duces no  effect  on  my  own  judgment.  The  world  forms  its 
opinion  on  prejudices;  but  I watch  and  work, — as  every 
man  must  who  wishes  to  do  his  duty,  — not  to  make  a noise, 
not  to  attract  the  applause  of  the  world,  but  to  justify  my 
conduct  to  God  and  my  conscience.” 

Assuredly  we  may  echo  M.  Dumont’s  sentiment,  that  “ the 
prince,  who,  at  nineteen,  wrote  those  words,  was  no  ordinary 
man.”  He  had  not  only  the  eye  to  see  greatness,  he  had  also 
the  strong  Will  to  guide  his  conduct  according  to  his  views, 
untrammelled  by  routine  and  formulas.  “Say  what  you  will, 
it  is  only  like  can  recognize  like,  and  a prince  of  great  ca- 
pacity will  always  recognize  and  cherish  greatness  in  his  ser- 
vants.” * People  saw  that  the  Duke  was  resolved.  Murmurs 
were  silenced ; or  only  percolated  the  gossip  of  private  cir- 
cles, till  other  subjects  buried  them,  as  all  gossip  is  buried. 

The  mode  of  life  which  the  genial  company  led  was  not 
only  the  subject  of  gossip  in  Weimar,  it  grew  and  grew  as 
scandals  grow,  not  losing  substance  on  the  way,  till  it  reached 
the  ears  of  distant  friends.  Thus,  only  a month  before  the 
appointment,  Klopstock  wrote  to  Goethe  a letter  “ which 
scandal  extorted  from  friendship  ” : — 

“ Hamburg,  8th  of  May,  1776. 

“ Here  is  a proof  of  my  friendship,  dearest  Goethe  ! It  is 
somewhat  difficult,  I confess,  to  give  it,  but  it  must  be  given. 


* Goethe  in  Eckermann , III.  p.  232. 


1775-]  THE  FIRST  WILD  WEEKS  AT  WEIMAR. 


i85 

Do  not  fancy  that  I wish  to  preach  to  you  about  your  doings, 
or  that  I judge  harshly  of  you  because  you  have  other  views 
than  mine.  But,  your  views  and  mine  quite  set  aside,  what 
will  be  the  inevitable  consequence  if  your  present  doings 
continue  ? The  Duke,  if  he  continues  to  drink  as  he  does, 
instead  of  strengthening,  as  he  says,  his  constitution,  will 
ruin  it,  and  will  not  live  long.  Young  men  of  powerful  con- 
stitutions — and  that  the  Duke  is  not  — have  in  this  way 
early  perished.  The  Germans  have  hitherto,  and  with  jus- 
tice, complained  that  their  princes  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  authors.  They  now  gladly  make  an  exception  in  favor 
of  the  Duke.  But  what  a justification  will  not  the  other 
princes  have,  if  you  continue  your  present  tone  ? If  only 
that  should  happen  which  I feel  will  happen ! The  Duchess 
will  perhaps  still  subdue  her  pain,  for  she  has  a strong  manly 
intellect.  But  that  pain  will  become  grief!  And  can  that  be 
so  suppressed  ? Louisa’s  grief,  Goethe  ! ....  I must  add  a 
word  about  Stolberg.  He  goes  to  Weimar  out  of  friendship 
for  the  Duke.  He  must  also  live  well  with  him.  But  how  ? 
In  his  style  ? No  ! unless  he,  too,  becomes  altered,  he  will 
go  away.  And  then  what  remains  for  him  ? Not  in  Copen- 
hagen, not  in  Weimar.  I must  write  to  Stolberg  ; what  shall 
I say  to  him  ? You  may  please  yourself  about  showing  this 
letter  to  the  Duke.  I have  no  objection  against  it.  On  the 
contrary ; for  he  is  assuredly  not  yet  arrived  at  that  point 
when  he  will  not  listen  to  the  honest  word  of  a friend. 

“ Klopstock.” 

Goethe’s  answer,  dated  the  21st  of  May,  a fortnight  later, 
therefore,  runs  thus:  — 

“ In  future,  spare  us  such  letters,  dear  Klopstock  ! They 
do  no  good,  and  only  breed  bad  blood.  You  must  feel  your- 
self that  I have  no  answer  to  make.  Either  I must,  like  a 


1 86  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 

school-boy,  begin  a Pater peccavi , or  sophistically  excuse,  or 
as  an  honest  fellow  defend,  and  perhaps  a mingling  of  all 
these  might  express  the  truth,  but  to  what  purpose  ? There- 
fore not  a word  more  between  us  on  this  subject.  Believe 
me,  I should  not  have  a moment’s  rest  if  I replied  to  all  such 
admonitions.  It  pained  the  Duke  a moment  to  think  it  was 
Klopstock.  He  loves  and  honors  you  : you  know  I do  the 
same.  Good  by.  Stolberg  must  come  all  the  same.  We 
are  no  worse ; and  with  God’s  help  will  be  better  than  what 
he  has  seen  us.” 

To  this  Klopstock  indignantly  replied  : — 

“You  have  much  misunderstood  the  proof  of  my  friend- 
ship, which  was  great  precisely  because  of  my  reluctance  to 
mix  myself  unasked  in  the  affairs  of  others.  And  as  you 
include  all  such  letters  and  all  such  admonitions  (your  ex- 
pressions are  as  strong  as  that)  in  the  same  class  with  the 
letter  which  contained  this  proof  of  my  friendship,  I hereby 
declare  you  unworthy  of  that  friendship.  Stolberg  shall  not 
come,  if  he  listens  to  me,  or  rather  if  he  listens  to  his  own 
conscience.” 

The  breach  thus  made  was  never  repaired.  Stolberg  did 
not  come  to  Weimar,  and  Klopstock  wrote  no  more. 

To  return  : whatever  basis  there  may  have  been  for  the 
reports  which  Gossip  magnified,  certain  it  is  that  the  Duke 
did  not  forget  the  cares  of  State  in  these  wild  orgies.  Both 
he  and  his  friend  were  very  active,  and  very  serious.  If 
Weimar,  according  to  the  historian  of  Germany,*  stands  as 
an  illustrious  exception  among  the  German  Courts,  it  was 
because  Karl  August,  upheld  by  his  friend,  knew  how  to 
carry  into  earnest  practice  the  axiom  of  Frederick  the  Great: 
“A  king  is  but  the  first  of  subjects.”  Goethe’s  beneficent 
activity  is  seen  less  in  such  anecdotes  as  those  often  cited 


* Menzel,  ccxli. 


1775  ] THE  FIRST  WILD  WEEKS  AT  WEIMAR.  187 


of  his  opening  a subscription  for  Burger  to  enable  him  to 
complete  his  translation  of  Homer , and  of  his  relieving  Jung 
Stilling  from  distress,  than  in  the  constant  and  democratic 
sympathy  with  which  he  directed  the  Duke’s  endeavors. 

It  is  worth  bearing  in  mind  what  the  young  Goethe  was, 
that  we  may  the  better  understand  the  reason  of  what  he 
became.  No  sooner  had  he  commenced  his  career  as  poli- 
tician, than  he  began  to  tone  down  the  extravagance  of  his  . 
demeanor;  without  foregoing  any  enjoyments,  he  tried  to 
accord  more  with  those  in  whom  a staid  demeanor  was  ne- 
cessitated by  their  more  flagging  pulses  of  lethargic  life. 
One  month  after  his  appointment  Wieland  writes  of  him  : 

“ Goethe  did  in  truth,  during  the  first  months  of  his  visit 
here,  scandalize  most  people  (never  me)  ; but  from  the 
moment  that  he  decided  on  becoming  a man  of  business, 
he  has  conducted  himself  with  blameless  acocfipoavvij  and  all 
worldly  prudence.”  Elsewhere  he  says  : “ Goethe,  with  all 
his  real  and  apparent  sauvagerie , has,  in  his  little  finger,  more 
conduite  and  savoir  faire  than  all  the  court  parasites,  Boniface 
sneaks,  and  political  cobweb-spinners  have  in  their  whole 
bodies  and  souls.  So  long  as  Karl  August  lives,  no  power 
can  remove  him.” 

As  we  familiarize  ourselves  with  the  details  of  this  episode, 
there  appears  less  and  less  plausibility  in  the  often-iterated 
declamation  against  Goethe  on  the  charge  of  his  having 
“ sacrified  his  genius  to  the  court.”  It  becomes  indeed  a 
singularly  foolish  display  of  rhetoric.  Let  us  for  a moment 
consider  the  charge.  He  had  to  choose  a career.  That  of 
poet  was  then,  as  it  is  still,  terribly  delusive;  verse  could 
create  fame,  but  no  money  : fama  and  fames  were  then,  as 
now,  in  dangerous  contiguity.  No  sooner  is  the  necessity 
for  a career  admitted  than  much  objection  falls  to  the  ground; 
for  those  who  reproach  him  with  having  wasted  his  time  on 


188 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


court  festivities,  and  the  duties  of  government  which  others 
could  have  done  as  well,  must  ask  whether  he  would  have 
saved  that  time  had  he  followed  the  career  of  jurisprudence 
and  jostled  lawyers  through  the  courts  at  Frankfurt  ? or 
would  they  prefer  seeing  him  reduced  to  the  condition  of 
poor  Schiller,  wasting  so  much  of  his  precious  life  in  literary 
“ hackwork,”  translating  French  books  for  a miserable  pit- 
tance ? Time , in  any  case,  would  have  been  claimed ; in 
return  for  that  given  to  Karl  August,  he  received,  as  he 
confesses  in  the  poem  addressed  to  the  Duke,  “what  the 
great  seldom  bestow,  — affection,  leisure,  confidence,  garden, 
and  house.  No  one  have  I to  thank  but  him;  and  much 
have  I wanted,  who,  as  a poet,  ill  understood  the  arts  of 
gain.  If  Europe  praised  me,  what  has  Europe  done  for 
me  ? Nothing.  Even  my  works  have  been  an  expense 
to  me.” 

In  1801,  writing  to  his  mother  on  the  complaints  uttered 
against  him  by  those  who  judged  falsely  of  his  condition, 
he  says  they  only  saw  what  he  gave  up,  not  what  he  gained  ; 
they  could  not  comprehend  how  he  grew  daily  richer, 
though  he  daily  gave  up  so  much.  He  confesses  that  the 
narrow  circle  of  a burgher  life  would  have  ill-accorded  with 
his  ardent  and  wide-sweeping  spirit.  Had  he  remained  at 
Frankfurt,  he  would  have  been  ignorant  of  the  world.  But 
here  the  panorama  of  life  was  unrolled  before  him,  and  his 
experience  was  every  way  enlarged.  Did  not  Leonardo  da 
Vinci  spend  much  of  his  time  charming  the  court  of  Milan 
with  his  poetry  and  lute-playing  ? Did  he  not  also  spend 
time  in  mechanical  and  hydrostatical  labors  for  the  State  ? 
No  reproach  is  lifted  against  his  august  name  ; no  one  cries 
out  against  his  being  false  to  his  genius  ; no  one  rebukes 
him  for  having  painted  so  little  at  one  period.  The  “Last 
Supper”  speaks  for  him.  Will  not  Tasso,  Iphigenia,  Her - 


1775-]  THE  FIRST  WILD  WEEKS  AT  WEIMAR.  ^9 


mann  und  Dorothea , Faust , Meister , and  the  long  list  of 
Goethe’s  works,  speak  for  him  ? 

I have  dwelt  mainly  on  the  dissipation  of  his  time , be- 
cause the  notion  that  a court  life  affected  his  genius  by 
“ corrupting  his  mind  ” is  preposterous.  No  reader  of  this 
biography,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  fail  to  see  the  true  relations 
in  which  he  stood  to  the  Duke ; how  free  they  were  from 
anything  like  servility,  or  suppression  of  genuine  impulse. 
Indeed,  one  of  the  complaints  against  him,  according  to 
the  unexceptionable  authority  of  Riemer,  was  that  made  by 
the  subalterns,  “ of  his  not  being  sufficiently  attentive  to 
court  etiquette.”  To  say,  as  Niebuhr  says,  that  the  “ court 
was  a Delilah  to  which  he  sacrificed  his  locks,”  is  profoundly 
to  misunderstand  his  genius,  profoundly  to  misread  his  life. 
Had  his  genius  been  of  that  stormy  kind  which  produces 
great  Reformers  and  great  Martyrs,  — had  it  been  his  mis- 
sion to  agitate  mankind  by  words,  reverberating  to  their  in- 
most recesses,  and  calling  them  to  lay  down  their  lives  in 
the  service  of  an  Idea,  — had  it  been  his  tendency  to  medi- 
tate upon  our  far-off  destinies,  or  to  sway  men  by  the  coercion 
of  grand  representative  abstractions, — then,  indeed,  we  might 
say  his  place  was  aloof  from  the  motley  throng,  and  not  in 
sailing  down  the  swiftly  flowing  stream  to  sounds  of  mirth 
and  music  on  the  banks.  But  he  was  not  a Reformer, 
not  a Martyr.  He  was  a Poet,  whose  religion  was  Beauty, 
whose  worship  was  of  Nature,  whose  aim  was  Culture.  His 
mission  was  to  paint  Life,  and  for  that  it  was  requisite  he 
should  see  it.  Happier  circumstances  might,  indeed,  have 
surrounded  him,  and  given  him  a greater  sphere.  It  would 
have  been  very  different,  as  he  often  felt,  if  there  had  been 
a Nation  to  appeal  to,  instead  of  a heterogeneous  mass  of 
small  peoples,  willing  enough  to  talk  of  Fatherland,  but  in 
no  wise  prepared  to  become  a Nation.  They  are  many  other 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


I90 

ifs  in  which  much  virtue  could  be  found  ; but  inasmuch  as 
he  could  not  create  circumstances,  we  must  follow  his  ex- 
ample, and  be  content  with  what  the  gods  provided.  I do 
not,  I confess,  see  what  other  sphere  was  open  to  him  in 
which  his  genius  could  have  been  more  sacred  ; but  I do 
see  that  he  built  out  of  circumstances  a noble  Temple  in 
which  the  altar-flame  burnt  with  a steady  light.  To  hypo- 
thetical biographers  be  left  the  task  of  settling  what  Goethe 
might  have  been;  enough  for  us  to  catch  some  glimpse  of 
what  he  was. 

“ Poetry,”  says  Carlyle,  “ is  the  attempt  which  man  makes 
to  render  his  existence  harmonious.”  It  is  the  flower  into 
which  a life  expands  ; but  it  is  not  the  life  itself,  with  all 
daily  needs,  daily  struggles,  daily  prosaisms.  The  true  poet 
manfully  accepts  the  condition  in  which  destiny  has  placed 
him,  and  therein  tries  to  make  his  existence  harmonious  ; 
the  sham  poet,  like  a weak  workman,  fretful  over  his  tools, 
is  loud  in  his  assurances  of  what  he  might  be,  were  it  his  lot 
to  live  in  other  circumstances.  Goethe  was  led  by  the  cur- 
rent of  events  to  a little  court,  where  he  was  arrested  by 
friendship,  love,  leisure,  and  opportunities  of  a freer,  nobler 
life  than  Frankfurt  Law  Courts  offered  him.  After  much 
deliberation  he  chose  his  career  these  pages  will  show  how 
in  it  he  contrived  to  be  true  to  his  genius. 

It  is  scarcely  worth  while  to  notice  trash  about  his  servility 
and  court  slavery.  He  was  not  required  to  be  servile  ; and 
his  nature  was  as  proud  as  any  prince’s.  “ They  call  me  a 
prince’s  servant,”  he  said  to  Eckermann,  “ and  a prince’s 
slave  ; as  if  there  were  any  meaning  in  such  words  ! Whom 
do  I serve?  A tyrant- — a despot?  Do  I serve  one  who 
lives  for  his  own  pleasures  at  the  people’s  cost  ? Such 
princes  and  such  times  are,  thank  God  ! far  enough  from  us. 
For  more  than  half  a century  I have  been  connected  in  the 


775  ] THE  FIRST  WILD  WEEKS  AT  WEIMAR. 


I9I 

closest  relations  with  the  Grand  Duke,  and  for  half  a century 
have  striven  and  toiled  with  him  ; but  I should  not  be  speak- 
ing truth  were  I to  say  that  I could  name  a single  day  on 
which  the  Duke  had  not  his  thoughts  busied  with  something 
to  be  devised  and  effected  for  the  good  of  the  country  : 
something  calculated  to  better  the  condition  of  each  indi- 
vidual in  it.  As  for  himself,  personally,  what  has  his  princely 
state  given  him  but  a burden  and  a task  ? Is  his  dwelling, 
or  his  dress,  or  his  table,  more  sumptuously  provided  than 
that  of  any  private  man  in  easy  circumstances?  Go  into 
our  maritime  cities,  and  you  will  find  the  larder  and  cellar 
of  every  considerable  merchant  better  filled  than  his.  If, 
then,  I am  a prince’s  slave,  it  is  at  least  my  consolation  that 
I am  but  the  slave  of  one  who  is  himself  a slave  of  the 
general  good.” 

And  to  close  this  subject,  read  the  following  passage  from 
Merck’s  letter  to  Nicolai  (the  Merck  who  is  said  by  Falk  to 
have  spoken  so  bitterly  of  the  waste  of  Goethe’s  life  at  Wie- 
mar) : “ I have  lately  paid  Goethe  a visit  at  the  Wartburg, 
and  we  have  lived  together  for  ten  days  like  children.  I am 
delighted  to  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes  what  his  situation 
is.  The  Duke  is  the  best  of  all,  and  has  a character  firm  as 

iron  : I would  do,  for  love  of  him , just  what  Goethe  does 

I tell  you  sincerely,  that  the  Duke  is  most  worthy  of  respect, 
and  one  of  the  cleverest  men  that  I have  ever  seen ; and 
consider  that  he  is  a prince,  and  only  twenty  years  of  age  ! ” 
The  long  and  friendly  correspondence  Merck  kept  up  with 
the  Duke  is  the  best  pledge  that  the  foregoing  estimate  was 
sincere. 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


I92 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  FRAU  VON  STEIN. 

From  out  the  many  flirtations  that  amused  him,  there  rises 
one  which  grew  into  predominant  importance,  swallowing  up 
all  the  others,  and  leaping  from  lambent  flame  into  eager  and 
passionate  fire.  It  was  no  transitory  flash,  but  a fire  which 
burnt  for  ten  years ; and  thereby  is  distinguished  from  all 
previous  attachments.  It  is  a silver  thread  woven  among  the 
many-colored  threads  which  formed  the  tapestry  of  his  life. 
I will  here  detach  it,  to  consider  it  by  itself. 

The  Baroness  von  Stein,  “ Hofdame,”  and  wife  of  the 
Master  of  the  Horse,  was,  both  by  family  and  position,  a 
considerable  person.  To  us  she  is  interesting  as  having 
sprung  from  a Scotch  family,  named  Irving,  and  as  being  the 
sister-in-law  to  that  Baron  Imhoff  who  sold  his  first  wife  to 
Warren  Hastings.  She  was  the  mother  of  seven  children, 
and  had  reached  that  age  which,  in  fascinating  women,  is  of 
perilous  fascination,  — the  age  of  three-and-thirty.  We  can 
understand  something  of  her  power  if  we  look  at  her  por- 
trait, and  imagine  those  delicate,  coquettish  features  animated 
with  the  lures  of  sensibility,  gayety,  and  experience  of  the 
world.  She  sang  well,  played  well,  sketched  well,  talked 
well,  appreciated  poetry,  and  handled  sentiment  with  the  deli- 
cate tact  of  a woman  of  the  world.  Her  pretty  fingers  had 
turned  over  many  a serious  book ; and  she  knew  how  to 
gather  honey  from  weeds.  Wfth  moral  deficiencies,  which 
this  history  will  betray,  she  was  to  all  acquaintances  a per- 
fectly charming  woman  ; and  retained  her  charm  even  in  old 
age,  as  many  living  witnesses  testify.  Some  years  after  her 


THE  FRAU  VON  STEIN 


193 


I775-] 

first  acquaintance  with  Goethe,  Schiller  thus  writes  of  her  to 
his  friend  Korner  : “ She  is  really  a genuine,  interesting  per- 
son, and  I quite  understand  what  has  attached  Goethe  to 
her.  Beautiful  she  can  never  have  been  ; but  her  countenance 
has  a soft  earnestness,  and  a quite  peculiar  openness.  A 
healthy  understanding,  truth,  and  feeling  lie  in  her  nature. 
She  has  more  than  a thousand  letters  from  Goethe ; and 
from  Italy  he  writes  to  her  every  week.  They  say  the  con- 
nection is  perfectly  pure  and  blameless.” 

It  was  at  Pyrmont  that  Goethe  first  saw  the  Frau  von 
Stein’s  portrait,  and  was  three  nights  sleepless  in  consequence 
of  Zimmermann’s  description  of  her.  In  sending  her  that 
flattering  detail,  Zimmermann  added,  “ He  will  assuredly  come 
to  Weimar  to  see  you.”  .Under  her  portrait  Goethe  wrote, 
“ What  a glorious  poem  it  would  be  to  see  how  the  world 
mirrors  itself  in  this  soul ! She  sees  the  world  as  it  is,  and 
yet  withal  sees  it  through  the  medium  o,f  love ; hence  sweet- 
ness is  the  dominant  expression.”  In  her  reply  to  Zimmer- 
mann she  begs  to  hear  more  about  Goethe,  and  intimates  her 
desire  to  see  him.  This  calls  forth  a reply  that  she  “ has  no 
idea  of  the  danger  of  his  magical  presence.”  Such  dangers 
pretty  women  gladly  run  into,  especially  when,  like  Charlotte 
von  Stein,  they  are  perfect  mistresses  of  themselves. 

With  his  heart  still  trembling  from  the  agitations  of  victory 
over  its  desires,  after  he  had  torn  himself  away  from  Lili,  he 
saw  this  charming  woman.  The  earth  continues  warm  long 
after  the  sun  has  glided  below  the  horizon;  and  the  heart 
continues  warm  some  time  after  the  departure  of  its  sun. 
Goethe  was  therefore  prepared  to  fall  desperately  in  love  with 
one  who  “ viewed  all  things  through  the  medium  of  love.” 
And  there  is  considerable  interest  in  noting  the  kind  of  idol 
now  selected.  Hitherto  he  has  been  captivated  only  by  very 
young  girls^  whose  youth,  beauty,  and  girlishness  were  the 
9 


M 


194 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


charms  to  his  wandering  fancy ; but  now  he  is  fascinated  by 
a woman,  a woman  of  rank  and  elegance,  a woman  of  culture 
and  experience,  a woman  who,  instead  of  abandoning  herself 
to  the  charm  of  his  affection,  knew  how,  without  descending 
from  her  pedestal,  to  keep  the  flame  alive.  The  others  loved 
him,  — showed  him  their  love,  — and  were  forgotten.  She  con- 
trived to  keep  him  in  the  pleasant  fever  of  hope ; made  her- 
self necessary  to  him ; made  her  love  an  aim,  and  kept  him 
in  the  excitement  of  one 

“ Who  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest.” 

Considering  the  state  of  society  and  opinion  at  that  period, 
and  considering  moreover  that,  according  to  her  son’s  narra- 
tive, her  husband  was  scarcely  seen  in  his  own  home  more 
than  once  a week,  and  that  no  pretence  of  affection  existed 
between  them,  we  can  understand  how  Goethe’s  notorious 
passion  for  her  excited  sympathy  in  Weimar.  Not  a word 
of  blame  escaped  any  one  on  this  subject.  They  saw  a 
lover  whose  mistress  gave  him  just  enough  encouragement 
to  keep  him  eager  in  pursuit,  and  who  knew  how  to  check 
him  when  that  eagerness  would  press  on  too  far.  In  his 
early  letters  to  her  there  are  sudden  outbreaks  and  reserves  ; 
sometimes  the  affectionate  thou  escapes,  and  the  next  day, 
perhaps  even  in  the  next  sentence,  the  prescribed  you  returns. 
The  letters  follow  almost  daily. 

In  a little  while  the  tone  grows  more  subdued.  Just  as 
the  tone  of  his  behavior  in  Weimar,  after  the  first  wild  weeks, 
became  softened  to  a lower  key,  so  in  these  letters  we  see, 
after  a while,  fewer  passionate  outbreaks,  fewer  interjections, 
and  no  more  thous.  But  love  warms  them  still.  The  letters 
are  incessant,  and  show  an  incessant  preoccupation.  Certain 
sentimental  readers  will  be  shocked,  perhaps,  to  find  so  many 
details  about  eating  and  drinking ; but  when  they  remember 


1776.]  THE  FRAU  VON  STEIN  195 

Charlotte  cutting  bread  and  butter,  they  may  understand  the 
author  of  Werther  eloquently  begging  his  beloved  to  send 
him  a sausage. 

The  visitor  may  still  read  the  inscription,  at  once  homage 
and  souvenir,  by  which  Goethe  connected  the  happy  hours 
of  love  with  the  happy  hours  of  active  solitude  passed  in  his 
Garden  House  in  the  Park.  Fitly  is  the  place  dedicated  to 
the  Frau  von  Stein.  The  whole  spot  speaks  of  her.  Here 
are  the  flower-beds  from  which  almost  every  morning  flowers, 
with  the  dew  still  on  them,  accompanied  letters,  not  less 
fresh  and  beautiful,  to  greet  the  beloved.  Here  are  the  beds 
from  which  came  the  asparagus  he  was  so  proud  to  send  her. 
Here  is  the  orchard  in  which  grew  the  fruit  he  so  often  sent. 
Here  is  the  room  in  which  he  dreamt  of  her ; here  the  room 
in  which  he  worked,  while  her  image  hovered  round  him. 
The  house  stands  within  twenty  minutes’  walk  from  the  house 
where  she  lived,  separated  from  it  by  clusters  of  noble  trees. 

If  the  reader  turns  back  to  the  description  of  the  Park,  he 
will  ascertain  the  position  of  this  Gartenhaus.  Originally  it 
belonged  to  Bertuch.  One  day  when  the  Duke  was  ear- 
nestly pressing  Goethe  to  take  up  his  residence  at  Weimar, 
the  poet  (who  then  lived  in  the  Jagerhaus  in  the  Belvidere 
Allee),  undecided  as  to  whether  he  should  go  or  remain,  let 
fall,  among  other  excuses,  the  want  of  a quiet  bit  of  land, 
where  his  taste  for  gardening  could  be  indulged.  “ Bertuch, 
for  example,  is  very  comfortable ; if  I had  but  such  a piece 
of  ground  as  that ! ” Hereupon  the  Duke,  very  characteris- 
tically, goes  to  Bertuch,  and  without  periphrasis,  says,  “ I 
must  have  your  garden.”  Bertuch  starts  : “ But,  your  High- 
ness — ” “ But  me  no  buts,”  replies  the  young  prince  ; “ I 

can’t  help  you.  Goethe  wants  it,  and  unless  we  give  it  to 
him  we  shall  never  keep  him  here ; it  is  the  only  way  to 
secure  him.”  This  reason  would  probably  not  have  been  so 


196  the  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  iv. 

cogent  with  Bertuch,  had  not  the  Duke  excused  the  despot- 
ism of  his  act  by  giving  in  exchange  more  than  the  value  of 
the  garden.  It  was  at  first  only  lent  to  Goethe  ; but  in  1780 
it  was  made  a formal  gift. 

It  is  charmingly  situated,  and,  although  of  modest  preten- 
sions, is  one  of  the  most  enviable  houses  in  Weimar.  The 
Ilm  runs  through  the  meadows  which  front  it.  The  town, 
although  so  near,  is  completely  shut  out  from  view  by  the 
thick-growing  trees.  The  solitude  is  absolute,  broken  only 
by  the  occasional  sound  of  the  church  clock,  the  music  from 
the  barracks,  and  the  screaming  of  the  peacocks  spreading 
their  superb  beauty  in  the  park.  So  fond  was  Goethe  of 
this  house,  that  winter  and  summer  he  lived  there  for  seven 
years  ; and  when,  in  1782,  the  Duke  made  him  a present  of 
the  house  in  the  Frauenplan , he  could  not  prevail  upon  him- 
self to  sell  the  Gartenhaus,  but  continued  to  make  it  a favor- 
ite retreat.  Often  when  he  chose  to  be  alone  and  undis- 
turbed, he  locked  all  the  gates  of  the  bridges  which  led  from 
the  town  to  his  house,  so  that,  as  Wieland  complained, 
no  one  could  get  at  him  except  by  aid  of  picklock  and 
crow-bar. 

It  was  here,  in  this  little  garden,  he  studied  the  develop- 
ment of  plants,  and  made  many  of  those  experiments  and 
observations  which  had  given  him  a high  rank  among  the 
discoverers  in  Science.  It  was  here  the  poet  escaped  from 
court.  It  was  here  the  lover  was  happy  in  his  love.  How 
modest  this  Garden  House  really  is  ; how  far  removed  from 
anything  like  one’s  preconceptions  of  it ! It  is  true,  that  the 
position  is  one  which  many  a rich  townsman  in  England 
would  be  glad  of,  as  the  site  for  a handsome  villa : a pretty 
orchard  and  garden  on  a gentle  slope  ; in  front,  a good  car- 
riage road,  running  beside  a fine  meadow,  encircled  by  the 
stately  trees  of  the  park.  But  the  house  a half-pay  captain 


1776.] 


THE  FRAU  VON  STEIN. 


197 


with  us  would  consider  a miserable  cottage ; yet  it  sufficed 
for  the  court  favorite  and  minister.  Here  the  Duke  was  con- 
stantly with  him  ; sitting  up,  till  deep  in  the  night,  in  earnest 
discussion ; often  sleeping  on  the  sofa  instead  of  going  home. 
Here  both  Duke  and  Duchess  would  come  and  dine  with 
him,  in  the  most  simple,  unpretending  way ; the  whole  ban- 
quet in  one  instance  consisting,  as  we  learn  from  a casual 
phrase  in  the  Stein  correspondence,  of  “ a beer  soup  and  a 
little  cold  meat.”  * 

There  is  something  very  pleasant  in  noticing  these  traits 
of  the  simplicity  which  was  then  practised.  The  Duke’s  own 
hut  — the  Borkenhaus  — has  already  been  described  (page 
162).  The  hut,  for  it  was  nothing  else,  in  which  Goethe 
lived  in  the  Ilmenau  Mountains,  and  the  more  than 
bourgeois  simplicity  of  the  Garden  House,  make  us  aware  of 
one  thing  among  others,  namely,  that  if  he  sacrificed  his 
genius  to  a court,  it  assuredly  was  not  for  loaves  and  fishes, 
not  for  luxury  and  material  splendor  of  any  kind.  Indeed, 
such  things  had  no  temptation  to  a man  of  his  simple  tastes. 
“ Rich  in  money,”  he  writes  to  his  beloved,  “ I shall  never 
become  ; but,  therefore,  all  the  richer  in  Confidence,  Good 
Name,  and  influence  over  the  minds  of  men.” 

It  was  his  love  of  Nature  which  made  him  so  indifferent 
to  luxury.  That  love  gave  him  simplicity  and  hardihood.  In 
many  things  he  was  unlike  his  nation  : notably  in  his  volun- 
tary exposure  to  two  bright,  wholesome  things,  which  to  his 
contemporaries  were  little  less  than  bugbears,  — I mean  fresh 
air  and  cold  water.  The  nation  which  consented  to  live  in 
the  atmosphere  of  iron  stoves,  tobacco,  and  bad  breath,  and 
which  deemed  a pint  of  water  all  that  man  could  desire  for 
his  ablutions,  must  have  been  greatly  perplexed  at  seeing 

* Compare  also  the  Briefwechsel  zwischen  Karl  August  und  Goethe , 

I.  27. 


198 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


Goethe  indulge  in  fresh  air  and  cold  water  as  enjoy ingly  as 
if  they  were  vices. 

Two  anecdotes  will  bring  this  contrast  into  relief.  So 
great  was  the  German  reluctance  to  even  a necessary  expos- 
ure to  the  inclemencies  of  open-air  exercise,  that  historians 
inform  us  “ a great  proportion,  especially  among  the  learned 
classes,  employed  a miserable  substitute  for  exercise  in  the 
shape  of  a machine,  by  means  of  which  they  comfortably  took 
their  dose  of  movement  without  leaving  their  rooms.”  * And 
Jacobs,  in  his  Persotialien , records  a fact  which,  while  explain- 
ing how  the  above-named  absurdity  could  have  gained  ground, 
paints  a sad  picture  of  the  life  of  German  youth  in  those 
days.  Describing  his  boyish  days  at  Gotha,  he  says  : “ Our 
winter  pleasures  were  confined  to  a not  very  spacious  court- 
yard, exchanged  in  summer  for  a little  garden  within  the 
walls,  which  my  father  hired.  We  took  no  walks.  Only 
once  a year , when  the  harvest  was  ripe , our  parents  took  us  out 
to  spend  an  evening  in  the  fields.”  f So  little  had  Goethe  of 
this  prejudice  against  fresh  air,  that  when  he  began  the 
rebuilding  of  his  Gartenhaus,  instead  of  sleeping  at  an  hotel 
or  at  the  house  of  a friend,  he  lived  there  through  all  the 
building  period ; and  we  find  him  writing,  “ At  last  I have  a 
window  once  more,  and  can  make  a fire.”  On  the  3d  of 
May  he  writes,  “ Good  morning : here  is  asparagus.  How 
were  you  yesterday  ? Philip  baked  me  a cake ; and  there- 
upon, wrapped  up  in  my  blue  cloak,  I laid  myself  on  a dry 
corner  of  the  terrace  and  slept  amid  thunder,  lightning,  and 
rain,  so  gloriously  that  my  bed  was  afterwards  quite  disagree- 
able.” On  the  19th  he  writes,  “Thanks  for  the  breakfast. 
I send  you  Something  in  return.  Last  night  I slept  on  the 

* Biedermann,  Deutschland's  Politische  Materielle  und  Sociale 
Zustdnde , I.  p.  343. 

t Quoted  by  Mrs.  Austin,  Germany  from  1760  to  1814,  p.  85. 


PRIVATE  THEATRICALS. 


199 


I777-] 

terrace,  wrapped  in  my  blue  cloak,  awoke  three  times,  at  12, 
2,  and  4,  and  each  time  there  was  a new  splendor  in  the  heav- 
ens? There  are  other  traces  of  this  tendency  to  bivouac,  but 
these  will  suffice.  He  bathed,  not  only  in  the  morning 
sunlight,  but  also  in  the  Ilm,  when  the  moonlight  shimmered 
on  it. 

One  night,  while  the  moon  was  calmly  shining  on  our 
poetical  bather,  a peasant,  returning  home,  was  in  the  act  of 
climbing  over  the  bars  of  the  floating  bridge  when  Goethe 
espied  him,  and,  moved  by  that  spirit  of  deviltry  which  so  often 
startled  Weimar,  he  gave  utterance  to  wild  sepulchral  tones, 
raised  himself  half  out  of  water,  ducked  under,  and  re- 
appeared howling,  to  the  horror  of  the  aghast  peasant,  who, 
hearing  such  sounds  issue  from  a figure  with  long  floating 
hair,  fled  as  if  a legion  of  devils  were  at  hand.  To  this  day 
there  remains  an  ineradicable  belief  in  the  existence  of  the 
water-sprite  who  howls  among  the  waters  of  the  Ilm. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PRIVATE  THEATRICALS. 

“Let  my  present  life,”  writes  Goethe  to  Lavater,  January, 
1 777?  “ continue  as  long  as  it  will,  at  any  rate  I have  heartily 
enjoyed  a genuine  experience  of  the  variegated  throng  and 
press  of  the  world,  — Sorrow,  Hope,  Love,  Work,  Wants,  Ad- 
venture, Ennui,  Impatience,  Folly,  Joy,  the  Expected  and  the 
Unknown,  the  Superficial  and  the  Profound,  — just  as  the  dice 
threw  — with  fetes,  dances,  sledgings  — adorned  in  silk  and 
spangles  — a marvellous  menage  ! And  withal,  dear  brother, 
God  be  praised,  in  myself  and  in  my  real  aims  in  life  I am 
quite  happy.” 


200 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


“ Goethe  plays  indeed  a high  game  at  Weimar,”  writes 
Merck,  “ but  lives  at  Court  after  his  own  fashion.  The  Duke 
is  an  excellent  man,  let  them  say  what  they  will,  and  in 
Goethe’s  company  will  become  still  more  so.  What  you 
hear  is  Court  scandal  and  lies.  It  is  true  the  intimacy 
between  master  and  servant  is  very  great,  but  what  harm  is 
there  in  that  ? Were  Goethe  a nobleman  it  would  be  thought 
quite  right.  He  is  the  soul  and  direction  of  everything,  and 
all  are  contented  with  him,  because  he  serves  many  and 
injures  no  one.  Who  can  withstand  the  disinterestedness  of 
this  man  ? ” 

He  had  begun  to  make  his  presence  felt  in  the  serious 
department  of  affairs ; not  only  in  educating  the  Duke  who 
had  chosen  him  as  his  friend,  but  also  in  practical  ameliora- 
tions. He  had  induced  the  Duke  to  call  Herder  to  Weimar, 
as  Hof  Prediger  (Court  chaplain)  and  General-superintendent ; 
whereat  Weimar  grumbled  and  gossiped,  setting  afloat  stories 
of  Herder  having  mounted  the  pulpit  in  boots  and  spurs. 
Not  content  with  these  efforts  in  a higher  circle,  Goethe 
sought  to  improve  the  condition  of  the  people ; and  among 
his  plans  we  note  one  for  the  opening  of  the  Ilmenau  mines, 
which  for  many  years  had  been  left  untouched. 

Amusement  went  hand  in  hand  with  business.  Among 
the  varied  amusements,  one,  which  greatly  occupied  his  time 
and  fancy,  deserves  a more  special  notice,  because  it  will  give 
us  a glimpse  of  the  Court,  and  will  also  show  us  how  the  poet 
turned  sport  into  profit.  I allude  to  the  private  theatricals 
which  were  started  shortly  after  his  arrival.  It  should  be 
premised  that  the  theatre  was  still  in  ashes  from  the  fire  of' 
1774.*  Seyler  had  carried  his  troupe  of  players  elsewhere; 
and  Weimar  was  without  its  stage.  Just  at  this  period  private 

* On  the  state  of  the  theatre  before  Goethe’s  arrival  and  subsequently, 
see  Pasque,  Goethe's  Theaterleitung  in  Weimar,  1863. 


PRIVATE  THEATRICALS, 


201 


*777-3 

theatricals  were  even  more  “ the  rage  ” than  they  are  in 
England  at  present.  In  Berlin,  Dresden,  Frankfurt,  Augs- 
burg, Nuremberg,  and  Fulda  were  celebrated  amateur 
troupes.  In  Wiirtzburg,  for  a long  while,  a noble  company 
put  on  sock  and  buskin ; in  Eisenach,  Prince  and  Court 
joined  in  the  sport.  Even  the  Universities,  which  in  earlier 
times  had,  from  religious  scruples,  denounced  the  drama,  now 
forgot  their  antagonism,  and  in  Vienna,  Halle,  Gottingen, 
and  Jena  allowed  the  students  to  have  private  stages. 

The  Weimar  theatre  surpassed  them  all.  It  had  its  poets, 
its  composers,  its  scene-painters,  its  costumers.  Whoever 
showed  any  talent  for  recitation,  singing,  or  dancing,  was 
pressed  into  service,  and  had  to  work  as  hard  as  if  his  bread 
depended  on  it.  The  almost  daily  rehearsals  of  drama,  opera, 
or  ballet  occupied  and  delighted  men  and  women  glad  to 
have  something  to  do.  The  troupe  was  distinguished : the 
Duchess  Amalia,  Karl  August,  Prince  Constantine,  Bode, 
Knebel,  Einsiedel,  Musaus,  Seckendorf,  Bertuch,  and  Goethe, 
with  Corona  Schroter,  Kotzebue’s  sister  Amalia,  and  Frau- 
lein  Gochhausen.  These  formed  a curious  strolling  company, 
wandering  from  Weimar  to  all  the  palaces  in  the  neighbor- 
hood— Ettersburg,  Tiefurt,  Belvedere,  even  to  Jena,  Dorn- 
burg,  and  Ilmenau.  Often  did  Bertuch,  as  Falk  tells  us, 
receive  orders  to  have  the  sumpter  wagon,  or  travelling 
kitchen,  ready  for  the  early  dawn,  when  the  Court  would 
start  with  its  wandering  troupe.  If  only  a short  expedition 
was  intended,  three  sumpter  asses  were  sufficient.  If  it  was 
more  distant,  over  hill  and  dale,  far  into  the  distant  country, 
then  indeed  the  night  before  was  a busy  one,  and  all  the 
ducal  pots  and  pans  were  in  requisition.  Such  boiling  and 
stewing  and  roasting!  such  slaughter  of  capons,  pigeons,  and 
fowls ! The  ponds  of  the  Ilm  were  dragged  for  fish ; the 
woods  were  robbed  of  their  partridges ; the  cellars  were 

9* 


202 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


lightened  of  their  wines.  With  early  dawn  rode  forth  the 
merry  party,  full  of  anticipation,  wild  with  animal  spirits. 
On  they  went  through  solitudes,  the  grand  old  trees  of  which 
were  wont  only  to  see  the  soaring  hawk  poised  above  their 
tops,  or  the  wild-eyed  deer  bounding  past  the  hut  of  the 
charcoal-burner.  On  they  went : youth,  beauty,  gladness, 
and  hope,  a goodly  train,  like  that  which  animated  the  forest 
of  Ardennes,  when  “ under  the  shade  of  melancholy  boughs  ” 
the  pensive  Duke  and  his  followers  forgot  awhile  their  cares 
and  “painted  pomps.,, 

Their  stage  was  soon  arranged.  At  Ettersburg  the  traces 
are  still  visible  oT  this  forest  stage,  where,  when  weather  per- 
mitted, the  performances  took  place.  A wing  of  the  chateau 
was  also  made  into  a theatre.  But  the  open-air  perform- 
ances were  most  relished.  To  rehearsals  and  performances  in 
Ettersburg  the  actors,  sometimes  as  many  as  twenty,  were 
brought  in  the  Duke’s  equipages ; and  in  the  evening,  after  a 
joyous  supper  often  enlivened  with  songs,  they  were  conduct- 
ed home  by  the  Duke’s  body-guard  of  Hussars  bearing  torch- 
es. It  was  here  they  performed  Einsiedel’s  opera,  The  Gyp- 
sies, with  wonderful  illusion.  Several  scenes  of  Gotz  von  Ber- 
lichingen  were  woven  into  it.  The  illuminated  trees,  the 
crowd  of  gypsies  in  the  wood,  the  dances  and  songs  under  the 
blue  starlit  heavens,  while  the  sylvan  bugle  sounded  from 
afar,  made  up  a picture  the  magic  of  which  was  never  for- 
gotten. On  the  Ilm  also,  at  Tiefurt,  just  where  the  river 
makes  a beautiful  bend  round  the  shore,  a regular  theatre 
was  constructed.  Trees,  and  other  poetical  objects,  such  as 
fishermen,  nixies,  water-spirits,  moon,  and  stars,  — all  were 
introduced  with  effect. 

I find  further  that  when  a travesty  of  the  “ Birds  ” of  Aris- 
tophanes was  performed  at  Ettersburg,  the  actors  were  all 
dressed  in  real  feathers,  their  heads  completely  covered, 


PRIVATE  THEATRICALS. 


203 


1777  ] 

though  free  to  move.  Their  wings  flapped,  their  eyes  rolled, 
and  ornithology  was  absurdly  parodied.  It  is  right  to  add 
that  besides  these  extravagances  and  ombres  chinoises , there 
were  very  serious  dramatic  efforts : among  them  we  find 
Goethe’s  second  dramatic  attempt,  Die  Mitschuldigen , which 
was  thus  cast : — 

Alceste Goethe. 

Soller Bertuch. 

Der  Wirth Musaus. 

Sophie Corona  Schroter. 

Another  play  was  the  Geschwister , written  in  three  evenings, 
it  is  said,  but  without  evidence,  out  of  love  for  the  sweet  eyes 
of  Amalia  Kotzebue,  sister  of  the  dramatist,  then  a youth. 
Kotzebue  thus  touches  the  point  in  his  Memoirs : “ Goethe 
had  at  that  time  just  written  his  charming  piece,  Die  Ges- 
chwister. It  was  performed  at  a private  theatre  at  Weimar, 
he  himself  playing  William,  and  my  sister,  Marianne;  while 
to  me  — yes,  to  me  — was  allotted  the  important  part  of  Pos- 
tilion ! My  readers  may  imagine  with  what  exultation  I trod 
the  stage  for  the  first  time  before  the  mighty  public  itself.” 
Another  piece  was  Cumberland’s  West- Indian,  in  which  the 
Duke  played  Major  O’Flaherty  ; Eckhoff  (the  great  actor), 
the  Father ; and  Goethe,  Belcour,  dressed  in  a white  coat 
with  silver  lace,  blue  silk  vest,  and  blue  silk  knee-breeches, 
in  which,  it  is  said,  he  looked  superb. 

While  mentioning  these,  I must  not  pass  over  the  Iphigetiia 
(then  in  prose),  which  was  thus  cast : — 


Orestes Goethe. 

Pylades Prince  Constantine. 

Thoas Knebel. 

Arkas Seidler. 

Iphigenia Corona  Schroter. 


“ Never  shall  I forget,”  exclaims  Dr.  Hufeland,  “ the  impres- 


204 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE . [book  iv. 


sion  Goethe  made  as  Orestes,  in  his  Grecian  costume ; one 
might  have  fancied  him  Apollo.  Never  before  had  there 
been  seen  such  union  of  physical  and  intellectual  beauty  in 
one  man  ! His  acting,  as  far  as  I can  learn,  had  the  ordinary 
defects  of  amateur  acting  ; it  was  impetuous  and  yet  stiff,  ex- 
aggerated and  yet  cold  ; and  his  fine  sonorous  voice  displayed 
itself  without  nice  reference  to  shades  of  meaning.  In  comic 
parts,  on  the  other  hand,  he  seems  to  have  been  excellent ; 
the  broader  the  fun,  the  more  at  home  he  felt ; and  one  can 
imagine  the  rollicking  animal  spirits  with  which  he  animated 
the  Marktschreier  in  the  Plundersweilern ; one  can  picture 
him  in  the  extravagance  of  the  Geflickte  Braut  * giving  vent 
to  his  sarcasam  on  the  “ sentimental  ” tone  of  the  age,  ridicul- 
ing his  own  Werther , and  merciless  to  Woldemar . f 

I have  thus  brought  together,  irrespective  of  dates,  the 
scattered  indications  of  these  theatrical  amusements.  How 
much  enjoyment  was  produced  by  them  ! what  social  pleasure  ! 
and  what  endless  episodes,  to  which  memory  recurred  in  after 
times,  when  the  actors  were  seated  round  the  dinner-table ! 
Nor  were  these  amusements  profitless.  Wilhelm  Meister 
was  designed  and  partly  written  about  this  period  ; and  the 
reader,  who  knows  Goethe’s  tendency  to  make  all  his  works 
biographical,  will  not  be  surprised  at  the  amount  of  theatrical 
experience  which  is  mirrored  in  that  work  ; nor  at  the  ear- 
nestness which  is  there  made  to  lurk  beneath  amusement,  so 
that  what  to  the  crowd  seems  no  more  than  a flattery  of  their 
tastes,  is  to  the  man  himself  a process  of  the  highest  culture. 

Boar-hunting  in  the  light  of  early  dawn,  sitting  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  day  in  grave  diplomacy  and  active  council,  rehears- 

* Published  under  a very  mitigated  form,  as  the  Triumph  der  Emp- 
findsamkeit.  See  the  next  chapter  for  further  notice  of  this  piece. 

t Jacobi  and  Wieland  were  both  seriously  offended  with  his  parodies 
of  their  writings ; but  both  soon  became  reconciled  to  him. 


PRIVATE  THEATRICALS. 


205 


1777  ] 

ing  during  the  afternoon,  and  enlivening  the  evening  with 
grotesque  serenades  or  torchlight  sledgings,  — thus  passed 
many  of  his  days  ; not  to  mention  flirtations,  balls,  masquer- 
ades, concerts,  and  verse-writing.  The  muse  wa i,  however, 
somewhat  silent,  though  Hans  Sachs'  poetische  Senndung ; Lila , 
some  charming  lyrics,  and  the  dramas  and  operas,  written  for 
the  occasion,  forbid  the  accusation  of  idleness.  He  was 
storing  up  materials.  Faust y Egmonty  Tasso , Iphigenia , and 
Meister  were  germinating. 

The  muse  was  silent,  but  was  the  soul  inactive  ? As  these 
strange  and  variegated  scenes  passed  before  his  eyes,  was  he 
a mere  actor,  and  not  also  a spectator  ? Let  his  works  an- 
swer. To  some  indeed  it  has  seemed  as  if  in  thus  lowering 
great  faculties  to  the  composition  of  slight  operas  and  festive 
pieces,  Goethe  was  faithless  to  his  mission,  false  to  his  own 
genius.  Herder  thought  that  the  Chosen  One  should  devote 
himself  to  great  works.  This  is  the  objection  of  a man  of  let- 
ters who  can  conceive  no  other  aim  than  the  writing  of  books. 
% 

But  Goethe  needed  to  live  as  well  as  to  write.  Life  is  multi- 
plied and  rendered  infinite  by  Feeling  and  Knowledge.  He 
sought  both  to  feel  and  to  know.  The  great  works  he  has 
written  — works  high  in  conception,  austerely  grand  in  execu- 
tion, the  fruits  of  earnest  toil  and  lonely  self-seclusion  — 
ought  to  shield  him  now  from  any  charge  of  wasting  his  time 
on  frivolities.  But  to  Herder  and  Merck  such  a point  of  view 
was  denied. 

It  was  his  real  artistic  nature,  and  genuine  poetic  mobility, 
that  made  him  scatter  with  a prodigal  hand  the  trifles  which 
distressed  his  friends.  Poetry  was  a melodious  voice  breath- 
ing from  his  entire  manhood,  not  a profession,  not  an  act  of 
duty.  It  was  an  impulse  : the  sounding  chords  of  his  poetic 
nature  vibrated  to  every  touch,  grave  and  stately,  sweet  and 
impassioned,  delicate  and  humorous.  He  wrote  not  for 


20  6 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 

Fame.  He  wrote  not  for  Money.  He  wrote  poetry  because 
he  had  lived  it ; and  sang  as  the  bird  sings  on  its  bough. 
Open  to  every  impression,  touched  to  ravishment  by  Beauty, 
he  sang  whatever  at  the  moment  filled  him  with  delight,  — 
now  trilling  a careless  snatch  of  melody,  now  a simple  ballad, 
now  a majestic  hymn  ascending  from  the  depths  of  the  soul 
on  incense-bearing  rhythms,  and  now  a grave  quiet  chant, 
slow  with  its  rich  burden  of  meanings.  Men  in  whom  the 
productive  activity  is  great  cannot  be  restrained  from  throw- 
ing off  trifles,  as  the  plant  throws  off  buds  beside  the  expand- 
ed flowers.  Michael  Angelo  carved  the  Moses,  and  painted 
the  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel,  but  did  he  not  also  lend  his 
master-hand  to  the  cutting  of  graceful  cameos  ? 


CHAPTER  V. 

MANY-COLORED  THREADS. 

Hitherto  our  narrative  of  this  Weimar  period  has  moved 
mainly  among  generalities,  for  only  by  such  means  could  a 
picture  of  this  episode  be  painted.  Now,  as  we  advance  fur- 
ther, it  is  necessary  to  separate  the  threads  of  his  career  from 
those  of  others  with  which  it  was  interwoven. 

It  has  already  been  noted  that  he  began  to  tire  of  the  fol- 
lies and  extravagances  of  the  first  months.  In  this  year, 
1777,  he  was  quiet  in  his  Garden  House,  occupied  with  draw- 
ing, poetry,  botany,  and  the  one  constant  occupation  of  his 
heart,  — love  for  the  Frau  von  Stein.  Love  and  ambition 
were  the  guides  which  led  him  through  the  labyrinth  of  the 
court.  Amid  those  motley  scenes,  amid  those  swiftly  succeed- 
ing pleasures,  Voices,  sorrowing  Voices  of  the  Past,  made 


MANY-COLORED  THREADS. 


207 


1777  ] 


themselves  audible  above  the  din,  and  recalled  the  vast  hopes 
which  once  had  given  energy  to  his  aims ; and  these  reverbera- 
tions of  an  ambition  once  so  cherished,  arrested  and  rebuked 
him,  like  the  deep  murmurs  of  some  solemn  bass  moving 
slowly  through  the  showering  caprices  of  a sportive  melody. 
No  soul  can  endure  uninterrupted  gayety  and  excitement : 
weary  intervals  will  occur  : the  vulgar  soul  fills  these  intervals 
with  the  long  lassitude  of  its  ennui ; the  noble  soul  with 
\ reproaches  at  the  waste  of  irrevocable  hours. 

The  quiet  influence  exercised  by  the  Frau  von  Stein  is  vis- 
ible in  every  page  of  his  letters.  As  far  as  I can  divine  the 
state  of  things  in  the  absence  of  her  letters,  I fancy  she  co- 
quetted with  him  ; when  he  showed  any  disposition  to  throw 
off  her  yoke,  when  his  manner  seemed  to  imply  less  warmth, 
she  lured  him  back  with  tenderness  ; and  vexed  him  with  unex- 
pected coldness  when  she  had  drawn  him  once  more  to  her 
feet.  “ You  reproach  me,”  he  writes,  “ with  alternations  in  my 
love.  It  is  not  true  ; but  it  is  well  that  I do  not  every  day  feel 
how  utterly  I love  you.”  Again  : “ I cannot  conceive  why  the 
main  ingredients  of  your  feeling  have  lately  been  Doubt  and 
want  of  Belief.  But  it  is  certainly  true  that  one  who  did  not 
hold  firm  his  affection  might  have  that  affection  doubted  away, 
just  as  a man  may  be  persuaded  that  he  is  pale  and  ill.” 
That  she  tormented  him  with  these  coquettish  doubts  is  but 
too  evident ; and  yet  when  he  is  away  from  her  she  writes  to 
tell  him  he  is  become  dearer ! “ Yes,  my  treasure  ! ” he  replies, 
“ I believe  you  when  you  say  your  love  increases  for  me  dur- 
ing, absence.  When  away,  you  love  the  idea  you  have  formed 
of  me ; but  when  present,  that  idea  is  often  disturbed  by 

my  folly  and  madness I love  you  better  when  present 

than  when  absent  : hence,  I conclude  my  love  is  truer  than 
yours.”  At  times  he  seems  himself  to  have  doubted  whether 
he  really  loved  her,  or  only  loved  the  delight  of  her  presence. 


208 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE . [book  iv. 


With  these  doubts  mingles  another  element,  his  ambition 
to  do  something  which  will  make  him  worthy  of  her.  In  spite 
of  his  popularity,  in  spite  of  his  genius,  he  has  not  subdued 
her  heart,  but  only  agitated  it.  He  endeavors,  by  devotion , to 
succeed.  Thus  love  and  ambition  play  into  each  other’s 
hands,  and  keep  him  in  a seclusion  which  astonishes  and 
pains  several  of  those  who  could  never  have  enough  of  his 
company. 

In  the  June  of  this  year  his  solitude  was  visited  by  one  of 
the  agitations  he  could  least  withstand,  — the  death  of.  his 
only  sister,  Cornelia.  Sorrows  and  dreams  is  the  significant 
entry  of  the  following  day  in  his  journal. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  he  undertook  the  care  of  Peter 
Imbaumgarten,  a Swiss  peasant  boy,  the  proteg'e  of  his  friend 
Baron  Lindau.  The  death  of  the  Baron  left  Peter  once  more 
without  protection.  Goethe,  whose  heart  was  open  to  all,  es- 
pecially to  children,  gladly  undertook  to  continue  the  Baron’s 
care  ; and  as  we  have  seen  him  sending  home  an  Italian  im- 
age-boy to  his  mother  at  Frankfurt,  and  Wilhehn  Meister  un- 
dertaking the  care  of  Mignon  and  Felix , so  does  this  “cold  ” 
Goethe  add  love  to  charity,  and  become  a father  to  the  far 
therless. 

The  autumn  tints  were  beginning  to  mingle  their  red  and 
yellow  with  the  dark  and  solemn  firs  of  the  Ilmenau  Moun- 
tains ; Goethe  and  the  Duke  could  not  long  keep  away  from 
the  loved  spot,  where  poetical  and  practical  schemes  occupied 
the  day,  and  many  a wild  prank  startled  the  night.  There 
they  danced  with  peasant-girls  till  early  dawn;  one  result  of 
which  was  a swelled  face,  forcing  Goethe  to  lay  up. 

On  his  return  to  Weimar  he  was  distressed  by  the  receipt 
of  one  ot  the  many  letters  which  Werther  drew  upon  him.  He 
had  made  sentimentality  poetical ; it  soon  became  a fashion. 
Many  were  the  melancholy  youths  who  poured  forth  their 


MANY-COL  ORED  THREADS . 


209 


1777-1 

sorrows  to  him,  demanding  sympathy  and  consolation.  Noth- 
ing could  be  more  antipathetic  to  his  clear  and  healthy  na- 
ture. It  made  him  ashamed  of  his  Werther.  It  made  him 
merciless  to  all  Wertherism.  To  relieve  himself  of  the  an- 
noyance, he  commenced  the  satirical  extravaganza  of  the  Tri- 
umph der  Empfindsamkeit.  Very  significant,  however,  of  the 
unalterable  kindliness  of  his  disposition  is  the  fact,  that  al- 
though these  sentimentalities  had  to  him  only  a painful  or  a 
ludicrous  aspect,  he  did  not  suffer  his  repugnance  to  the  mal- 
ady to  destroy  his  sympathy  for  the  patient.  There  is  a proof 
of  this  in  the  episode  he  narrates  of  his  Harz  journey,  made 
in  November  and  December  of  this  year,*  known  to  most 
readers  through  his  poem,  Die  Harzreise  in  Winter.  The 
object  of  that  journey  was  twofold  ; to  visit  the  Ilmenau  mines, 
and  to  visit  an  unhappy  misanthrope  whose  Wertherism  had 
distressed  him. 

The  letter  of  the  misanthrope  just  alluded  to  was  signed 
Plessing,  and  dated  from  Wernigerode.  There  was  something 
remarkable  in  the  excess  of  its  morbidity,  accompanied  by 
indications  of  real  talent.  Goethe  did  not  answer  it,  having 
already  hampered  himself  in  various  ways  by  responding  to 
such  extraneous  demands  upon  his  sympathy  ; another  and 
more  passionate  letter  came  imploring  an  answer,  which  was 
still  silently  avoided.  But  now  the  idea  of  personally  ascer- 
taining what  manner  of  man  his  correspondent  was,  made  him 
swerve  from  his  path ; and  under  his  assumed  title  of  land- 
scape-painter he  called  on  Plessing. 

On  hearing  that  his  visitor  came  from  Gotha,  Plessing 
eagerly  inquired  whether  he  had  not  visited  Weimar,  and 
whether  he  knew  the  celebrated  men  who  lived  there  ? With 
perfect  simplicity  Goethe  replied  that  he  did,  and  began 

* And  not  in  1776,  as  he  says ; that  date  is  disproved  by  his  letters  to 
the  Frau  von  Stein. 

N 


210 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


talking  of  Kraus,  Bertuch,  Musaus,  Jagemann,  etc.,  when  he 
was  impatiently  interrupted  with,  “ But  why  don’t  you  mention 
Goethe  ? ” He  answered  that  Goethe  also  had  he  seen  ; 
upon  this  he  was  called  upon  to  give  a description  of  that 
great  poet,  which  he  did  in  a quiet  way,  sufficient  to  have 
betrayed  his  incognito  to  more  sagacious  eyes. 

Plessing  then  with  great  agitation  informed  him  that  Goethe 
had  not  answered  a most  pressing  and  passionate  letter  in 
which  he,  Plessing,  had  described  the  state  of  his  mind,  and 
had  implored  direction  and  assistance.  Goethe  excused  him- 
self as  he  best  could  ; but  Plessing  insisted  on  reading  him 
the  letters,  that  he  might  judge  whether  they  deserved  such 
treatment. 

He  listened,  and  tried  by  temperate  sympathetic  counsel 
to  wean  Plessing  from  his  morbid  thoughts  by  fixing  them 
on  external  objects,  especially  by  some  active  employment. 
These  were  impatiently  rejected,  and  Goethe  left  him,  feeling 
that  the  case  was  almost  beyond  help. 

He  was  subsequently  able  to  assist  Plessing,  who,  on  visit- 
ing him  at  Weimar,  discovered  his  old  acquaintance,  the 
landscape-painter.*  But  the  characteristic  part  of  this  anec- 
dote — - and  that  which  makes  me  cite  it  here  — is,  the  prac- 
tical illustration  it  gives  of  his  fundamental  realism,  which 
looked  to  nature  and  earnest  activity  as  the  sole  cure  for 
megrims,  sentimentalisms,  and  self-torturings.  Turn  your 

* In  1788,  Plessing  was  appointed  professor  of  philosophy  in  the  uni- 
versity of  Duisburg,  where  Goethe  visited  him  on  his  return  home  from 
the  campaign  in  France,  1792.  The  reader  may  be  interested  to  know, 
that  Plessing  entirely  outlived  his  morbid  melancholy,  and  gained  a 
respectable  name  in  German  letters  His  principal  works  are  Osiris 
und  Socrates , 1 783  ; Historische  und  philosophische  Untersuchungen  iiber 
die  Denkart , Theologie  und  Philosophie  der  dltesten  Volker,  1785  ; and 
Memnomium,  oder  Versuche  zur  Enthiillung  der  Geheimnisse  des  Alter - 
thurnsy  1787.  He  died  1806. 


773-] 


MANY-COLORED  THREADS. 


211 


mind  to  realities,  he  said,  and  the  self-made  phantoms  which 
darken  your  soul  will  disappear  like  night  at  the  approach  of 
dawn 

* In  the  January  of  the  following  year  (1778)  Goethe  was 
twice  brought  face  to  face  with  Death.  The  first  was  during 
a boar-hunt : his  spear  snapped  in  the  onslaught,  and  he  was 
in  imminent  peril,  but  fortunately  escaped.  On  the  follow- 
ing day,  while  he  and  the  Duke  were  skating  (perhaps  talking 
over  yesterday’s  escape),  there  came  a crowd  over  the  ice, 
bearing  the  corpse  of  the  unhappy  Fraulein  von  Lassberg, 
who,  in  the  despair  of  unrequited  love,  had  drowned  herself 
in  the  Ilm,  close  by  the  very  spot  where  Goethe  was  wont  to 
take  his  evening  walk.  At  all  times  this  would  have  been  a 
shock  to  him,  but  the  shock  was  greatly  intensified  by  the 
fact  that  in  the  pocket  of  the  unfortunate  girl  was  found  a 
copy  of  Werther  !*  It  is  true  we  never  reproach  an  author 
in  such  cases.  No  reflecting  man  ever  reproached  Plato  with 
the  suicide  of  Cleombrotus,  or  Schiller  with  the  brigandage  of 
highwaymen.  Yet  when  fatal  coincidences  occur,  the  author, 
whom  we  absolve,  cannot  so  lightly  absolve  himself.  It  is  in 
vain  to  argue  that  the  work  does  not,  rightly  considered, 
lead  to  suicide ; if  it  does  so,  wrojigly  considered,  it  is  the 
proximate  cause ; and  the  author  cannot  easily  shake  off  that 
weight  of  blame.  Goethe,  standing  upon  logic,  might  have 
said  : “ If  Plato  instigated  the  suicide  of  Cleombrotus,  cer- 
tainly he  averted  that  of  Olympiodorus ; if  I have  been  one 
of  the  many  causes  which  moved  this  girl  towards  that  fatal 
act,  I have  also  certainly  been  the  cause  of  saving  others, 
notably  that  young  Frenchman  who  wrote  to  thank  me.”  He 
might  have  argued  thus ; but  Conscience  is  tenderer  than 

* Riemer,  who  will  never  admit  anything  that  may  seem  to  tell  against 
his  idol,  endeavors  to  throw  a doubt  on  this  fact,  saying  it  was  reported 
only  out  of  malice.  But  he  gives  no  reasons. 


212 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


Logic  ; and  if  in  firing  at  a wild  beast  I kill  a brother  hunter, 
my  conscience  will  not  leave  me  altogether  in  peace. 

The  body  was  borne  to  the  house  of  the  Frau  von  Stein, 
which  stood  nearest  the  spot,  and  there  he  remained  with  it 
the  whole  day,  exerting  himself  to  console  the  wretched 
parents.  He  himself  had  need  of  some  consolation.  The 
incident  affected  him  deeply,  and  led  him  to  speculate  on  all 
cognate  subjects,  especially  on  melancholy.  “ This  inviting 
sadness,”  he  beautifully  says,  “ has  a dangerous  fascination, 
like  water  itself,  and  we  are  charmed  by  the  reflex  of  the  stars 
of  heaven  which  shines  through  both.” 

He  was  soon,  however,  “ forced  into  theatrical  levity  ” by 
the  various  rehearsals  necessary  for  the  piece  to  be  performed 
on  the  birthday  of  the  Duchess.  This  was  the  Triumph  der 
Empfindsamkeit.  The  adventure  with  Plessing,  and  finally 
the  tragedy  of  the  Fraulein  von  Lassberg,  had  given  increased 
force  to  his  antagonism  against  Wertherism  and  Sentimental- 
ity, which  he  now  lashed  with  unsparing  ridicule.  The  hero 
of  his  extravaganza  is  a Prince,  whose  soul  is  only  fit  for 
moonlight  ecstasies  and  sentimental  rhapsodies.  He  adores 
Nature ; not  the  rude,  rough,  imperfect  Nature  whose  gigantic 
energy  would  alarm  the  sentimental  mind  ; but  the  beautiful 
rose-pink  Nature  of  books.  He  likes  Nature  as  one  sees  it 
at  the  Opera.  Rocks  are  picturesque  it  is  true  ; but  they  are 
often  crowned  with  tiaras  of  snow,  sparkling,  but  apt  to  make 
one  “ chilly  ” ; turbulent  winds  howl  through  their  clefts  and 
crannies,  alarming  to  delicate  nerves.  The  Prince  is  not 
fond  of  the  winds.  Sunrise  and  early  morn  are  lovely,  but 
damp ; and  the  Prince  is  liable  to  rheumatism. 

To  obviate  all  such  inconveniences  he  has  had  a mechan- 
ical imitation  of  Nature  executed  for  his  use;  and  this 
accompanies  him  on  his  travels ; so  that  at  a moment’s 
notice,  in  secure  defiance  of  rheumatism,  he  can  enjoy  a 
moonlight  scene,  a sunny  landscape,  or  a sombre  grove. 


1778] 


MANY-COLORED  THREADS. 


213 


He  is  in  love ; but  his  mistress  is  as  factitious  as  his  land- 
scapes. Woman  is  charming  but  capricious,  fond  but  exact- 
ing ; and  therefore  the  Prince  has  a doll  dressed  in  the  same 
style  as  the  woman  he  once  loved.  By  the  side  of  this  doll 
he  passes  hours  of  rapture  ; for  it  he  sighs  ; for  it  he  rhap- 
sodizes. 

The  real  woman  appears,  — the  original  of  that  much- 
treasured  image.  Is  he  enraptured  ? Not  in  the  least.  His 
heart  does  not  palpitate  in  her  presence  ; he  does  not  recog- 
nize her ; but  throws  himself  once  more  into  the  arms  of  his 
doll,  and  thus  sensibility  triumphs. 

There  are  five  acts  of  this  “ exquisite  fooling.”  Originally 
it  was  much  coarser  and  more  personal  than  we  now  see  it. 
Bottiger  says  that  there  remains  scarcely  a shadow  of  its 
flashing  humor  and  satiric  caprice.  The  whip  of  Aristophanes 
was  applied  with  powerful  wrist  to  every  fashionable  folly,  in 
dress,  literature,  or  morals,  and  the  spectators  saw  themselves 
as  in  a mirror  of  sarcasm.  At  the  conclusion,  the  doll  was 
ripped  open,  and  out  fell  a multitude  of  books,  such  as 
were  then  the  rage,  upon  which  severe  and  ludicrous  judg- 
ments were  passed,  — and  the  severest  upon  Werther.  The 
whole  piece  was  interspersed  with  ballets,  music,  and  comical 
changes  of  scene  ; so  that  what  now  appears  a tiresome  farce, 
was  then  an  irresistible  extravaganza. 

This  extravaganza  has  the  foolery  of  Aristophanes,  and  the 
physical  fun  of  that  riotous  wit,  whom  Goethe  was  then 
studying.  But  when  critics  are  in  ecstasies  with  its  wit  and 
irony,  I confess  myself  at  a loss  to  conceive  clearly  what 
they  mean.  National  wit,  however,  is  perhaps  scarcely 
amenable  to  criticism.  What  the  German  thinks  exquisitely 
ludicrous,  is  to  a Frenchman  or  an  Englishman  often  of 
mediocre  mirthfulness.  Wit  requires  delicate  handling ; the. 
Germans  generally  touch  it  with  gloved  hands.  Sarcasm  is 


214 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


with  them  too  often  a sabre,  not  a rapier,  hacking  the  victim 
where  a thrust  would  suffice.  It  is  a noticeable  fact  that 
amid  all  the  riches  of  their  Literature  they  have  little  that  is 
comic  of  a high  order.  They  have  produced  no  Comedy. 
To  them  may  be  applied  the  couplet  wherein  the  great 
original  of  Grotesque  Seriousness  set  forth  its  verdict,  — 

K (jfu^dodLdaaKaXlav  elvai  %a\e7rc6raroj/  Zpyov  cltt&vtuv. 

UoXKCjv  y cLp  5'r/  Teipaadvruv  avr'fjv  oXiyois  at.* 

Which  I will  venture  to  turn  thus,  — 

“ Miss  Comedy  is  a sad  flirt,  as  we  guess 
From  the  number  who  court  her,  the  few  she  doth  bless.” 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST. 

A strange  phantasmagoria  is  the  life  he  leads  at  this 
epoch.  His  employments  are  manifold,  yet  his  studies,  his 
drawing,  etching,  and  rehearsing  are  carried  on  as  if  they 
alone  were  the  occupation  of  the  day.  His  immense  activity, 
and  power  of  varied  employment,  scatter  the  energies  which 
might  be  consecrated  to  some  great  work ; but,  in  return, 
they  give  him  the  varied  store  of  material  of  which  he  stood 
so  much  in  need.  At  this  time  he  is  writing  Wilhelm  Meister , 
and  Egmont ; Iphigenia  is  also  taking  shape  in  his  mind. 

This  man,  whose  diplomatic  coldness  and  aristocratic 
haughtiness  have  formed  the  theme  of  so  many  long  tirades, 
was  of  all  Germans  the  most  sincerely  democratic,  until  the 
Reign  of  Terror  in  France  frightened  him,  as  it  did  others, 
into  more  modified  opinions.  Not  only  was  he  always  de- 


* Aristophanes,  Equites , V.  516. 


1778] 


THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST. 


215 


lighted  to  be  with  the  people,  and  to  share  their  homely  ways, 
which  were  consonant  with  his  own  simple  tastes,  but  we  find 
him  in  the  confidence  of  intimacy  expressing  his  sympa- 
thy with  the  people  in  the  heartiest  terms.  When  among  the 
miners  he  writes  to  his  beloved,  “ How  strong  my  love  has 
returned  upon  me  for  these  lower  classes ! which  one  calls 
the  lower,  but  which  in  God’s  eyes  are  assuredly  the  highest ! 
Here  you  meet  all  the  virtues  combined : Contentedness, 
Moderation,  Truth,  Straightforwardness,  Joy  in  the  slightest 
good,  Harmlessness,  Patience  . . . Patience  . . . Constancy 
in  ...  in  ...  I will  not  lose  myself  in  panegyric  ! ” Again, 
he  is  writing  Iphigenia , but  the  news  of  the  misery  and 
famine  among  the  stocking-weavers  of  Apolda  paralyzes  him. 
“ The  drama  will  not  advance  a step  : it  is  cursed  ; the  King 
of  Tauris  must  speak  as  if  no  stocking- weaver  in  Apolda  felt 
the  pangs  of  hunger ! ” 

In  striking  contrast  stands  the  expression  of  his  contempt 
for  what  was  called  the  great  world,  as  he  watched  it  in  his 
visits  to  the  neighboring  courts.  If  affection  bound  him  to 
Karl  August,  whom  he  was  forming,  and  to  Luise,  for  whom 
he  had  a chivalrous  regard,  his  eyes  were  not  blind  to  the 
nullity  of  other  princes  and  their  followers.  “ Good  society 
have  I seen,”  runs  one  of  his  epigrams,  “ they  call  it  the 
‘good’  whenever  there  is  not  in  it  the  material  for  the 
smallest  of  poems.” 

“ Gute  Gesellschaft  hab’  ich  gesehen  ; man  nennt  sie  die  gute 
Wenn  sie  zum  kleinsten  Gedicht  keine  Gelegenheit  giebt.” 

Notably  was  this  the  case  in  his  journey  with  the  Duke  to 
Berlin,  May,  1778.  He  only  remained  a few  days  there; 
saw  much,  and  not  without  contempt.  “I  have  got  quite 
close  to  old  Fritz,  having  seen  his  way  of  life,  his  gold,  his 
silver,  his  statues,  his  apes,  his  parrots,  and  heard  his  own 
curs  twaddle  about  the  great  man.”  Potsdam  and  Berlin 


21 6 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


were  noisy  with  preparations  for  war.  The  great  King  was 
absent ; but  Prince  Henry  received  the  poet  in  a friendly 
manner,  and  invited  him  and  Karl  August  to  dinner.  At 
table  there  were  several  generals ; but  Goethe,  who  kept  his 
eyes  open,  sternly  kept  his  mouth  closed.  He  seems  to  have 
felt  no  little  contempt  for  the  Prussian  Court,  and  its  great 
men,  who  appeared  very  small  men  in  his  eyes.  “ I have 
spoken  no  word  in  the  Prussian  dominions  which  might  not 
be  made  public.  Therefore  I am  called  haughty,  and  so 
forth.”  Varnhagen  intimates  that  the  ill-will  he  excited  by 
not  visiting  the  literati,  and  by  his  reserve,  was  so  great  as  to 
make  him  averse  to  hearing  of  his  visit  in  after  years.* 
What,  indeed,  as  Varnhagen  asks,  had  Goethe  in  common 
with  Nicolai,  Ramler,  Engel,  Zellner,  and  the  rest  ? He  did 
visit  the  poetess  Karschin  and  the  artist  Chodowiecki ; but 
from  the  rest  he  kept  aloof.  Berlin  was  not  a city  in  which 
he  could  feel  himself  at  home ; and  he  doubtless  was  fully 
aware  of  the  small  account  in  which  he  was  held  by  Fred- 
erick, whose  admiration  lay  in  quite  other  directions. 

On  returning  to  Weimar,  Goethe  occupied  himself  with 
various  architectural  studies,  apropos  of  the  rebuilding  of  the 
palace  • and  commenced  those  alterations  in  the  park,  which 
resulted  in  the  beautiful  distribution  formerly  described.  But 
I pass  over  many  details  of  his  activity,  to  narrate  an  episode 
which  must  win  the  heart  of  every  reader.  In  these  pages  it 
has  been  evident,  I hope,  that  no  compromise  with  the  truth 
has  led  me  to  gloss  over  faults,  or  to  conceal  shortcomings. 
All  that  testimony  warrants  I have  reproduced  : good  and 
evil,  as  in  the  mingled  yarn  of  life.  Faults  and  deficiencies, 
even  grievous  errors,  do  not  estrange  a friend  from  our 
hearts ; why  should  they  lower  a hero  ? Why  should  the 
biographer  fear  to  trust  the  tolerance  of  human  sympathy  ? 


* Vermischte  Schriften,  III.  p.  62. 


1778.] 


THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST. 


21 7 


Why  labor  to  prove  a hero  faultless  ? The  reader  is  no  valet 
de  chambre  incapable  of  crediting  greatness  in  a robe  de 
ehambre.  Never  should  we  forget  the  profound  saying  of 
Hegel  in  answer  to  the  vulgar  aphorism  (“  No  man  is  a hero 
to  his  valet  de  chambre  ”)  namely,  “ This  is  not  because  the 
Hero  is  no  Hero,  but  because  the  Valet  is  a Valet.”*  Hav- 
ing trusted  to  the  effect  which  the  true  man  would  produce, 
in  spite  of  all  drawbacks,  and  certain  that  the  true  man 
was  lovable  as  well  as  admirable,  I have  made  no  direct  ap- 
peal to  the  reader’s  sympathy,  nor  tried  to  make  out  a case 
in  favor  of  extraordinary  virtue. 

But  the  tribute  of  affectionate  applause  is  claimed  now  we 
have  arrived  at  a passage  in  his  life  so  characteristic  of  the 
delicacy,  generosity,  and  nobility  of  his  nature,  that  I cannot 
understand  how  it  is  possible  for  any  one  not  to  love  him, 
after  reading  it.  Of  generosity,  in  the  more  ordinary  sense, 
there  are  abundant  examples  in  his  history.  Riemer  has 
instanced  several,!  but  these  are  acts  of  kindness,  thoughtful- 
ness, and  courtesy,  such  as  one  expects  to  find  in  a pros- 
perous poet.  That  he  was  kind,  gave  freely,  sympathized 
freely,  acted  disinterestedly,  and  that  his  kindness  showed 
itself  in  trifles  quite  as  much  as  in  important  actions  (a  most 
significant  trait ),{  is  known  to  all  persons  moderately  ac- 

* “ Nicht  aber  darum  weil  dieser  kein  Held  ist,  sondern  weil  jener 
der  Kammerdiener  ist.”  — Philosophic  der  Geschichte,  p.  40.  Goethe 
repeated  this  as  an  epigram ; and  Carlyle  has  wrought  it  into  the  minds 
of  hundreds  ; but  Hegel  is  the  originator. 

t Mittheilungen,  Vol.  I.  102-105. 

t There  is  lamentable  confusion  in  our  estimate  of  character  on  this 
point  of  generosity.  We  often  mistake  a spasm  of  sensibility  for  the 
strength  of  lovingness,  — making  an  occasional  act  of  kindness  the  sign 
of  a kind  nature.  Benj.  Constant  says  of  himself : “ Je  puis  faire  de 
bonnes  et  fortes  actions : je  ne  puis  avoir  de  bons  procedis P There  are  hun- 
dreds like  him.  On  the  other  hand,  there  are  hundreds  who  willingly 


10 


21 8 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


quainted  with  German  literature.  But  the  disposition  exhib- 
ited in  the  story  I am  about  to  tell  is  such  as  few  persons 
would  have  imagined  to  be  lying  underneath  the  stately 
prudence  and  calm  self-mastery  of  the  man  so  often  styled 
“ heartless.” 

This  is  the  story  : A man  (his  name  still  remains  a secret) 
of  a strange,  morbid,  suspicious  disposition  had  fallen  into 
destitution,  partly  from  unfortunate  circumstances,  partly  from 
his  own  fault.  He  applied  to  Goethe  for  assistance,  as  so 
many  others  did ; and  he  painted  his  condition  with  all  the 
eloquence  of  despair. 

“ According  to  the  idea  I form  of  you  from  your  letters,” 
writes  Goethe,  “ I fancy  I am  not  deceived,  and  this  to  me  is 
very  painful,  in  believing  that  I cannot  give  help  or  hope  to 
one  who  needs  so  much.  But  I am  not  the  man  to  say, 
‘ Arise,  and  go  farther.’  Accept  the  little  that  I can  give,  as 
a plank  thrown  towards  you  for  momentary  succor.  If  you 
remain  longer  where  you  are,  I will  gladly  see  that  in  future  you 
receive  some  slight  assistance.  In  acknowledging  the  receipt 
of  this  money,  pray  inform  me  how  far  you  can  make  it  go. 
If  you  are  in  want  of  a dress,  great-coat,  boots,  or  warm 
stockings,  tell  me  so;  I have  some  that  I can  spare. 

“ Accept  this  drop  of  balsam  from  the  compendious 
medicine-chest  of  the  Samaritan,  in  the  same  spirit  as  it  is 
offered.” 

This  was  on  the  2d  of  November,  1778.  On  the  nth  he 
writes  again,  and  from  the  letter  we  see  that  he  had  resolved 
to  do  more  than  throw  out  a momentary  plank  to  the  ship- 
wrecked man,  — in  fact  he  had  undertaken  to  support  him. 

“ In  this  parcel  you  will  receive  a great-coat,  boots,  stock- 

perform  many  little  acts  of  kindness  and  courtesy,  but  who  never  rise  to 
the  dignity  of  generosity ; these  are  poor  natures,  ignorant  of  the 
grander  throbbings. 


THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST 


1773.] 


219 


ings,  and  some  money.  My  plan  for  you  this  winter  is 
this  : — 

“ In  Jena  living  is  cheap.  I will  arrange  for  board  and 
lodging,  etc.,  on  the  strictest  economy,  and  will  say  it  is  for 
some  one  who,  with  a small  pension,  desires  to  live  in  retire- 
ment. When  that  is  secured  I will  write  to  you  ; you  can  then 
go  there,  establish  yourself  in  your  quarters,  and  I will  send  you 
cloth  and  lining,  with  the  necessary  money,  for  a coat,  which 
you  can  get  made,  and  I will  inform  the  rector  that  you  were 
recommended  to  me,  and  that  you  wish  to  live  in  retirement 
at  the  University. 

“You  must  then  invent  some  plausible  story,  have  your 
name  entered  on  the  books  of  the  University,  and  no  soul 
will  ever  inquire  more  about  you,  neither  Burgomaster  nor 
Amtmann.  / have  not  sent  you  one  of  my  coats , because  it 
might  be  recognized  in  Jena . Write  to  me  and  let  me  know 
what  you  think  of  this  plan,  and  at  all  events  in  what  char- 
acter you  propose  to  present  yourself.” 

The  passage  in  italics  indicates  great  thoughtfulness.  In- 
deed the  whole  of  this  correspondence  shows  the  most  tender 
consideration  for  the  feelings  of  his  protege.  In  the  post- 
script he  says  : “ And  now  step  boldly  forth  again  upon  the 
path  of  life  ! We  live  but  once Yes,  I know  perfect- 

ly what  it  is  to  take  the  fate  of  another  upon  one’s  own 
shoulders,  but  you  shall  not  perish!”  On  the  23d  he 
writes  : — 

“ I received  to-day  your  two  letters  of  the  17th  and  18th, 
and  have  so  far  anticipated  their  contents  as  to  have  caused 
inquiry  to  be  made  in  Jena  for  the  fullest  details,  as  for  one 
who  wished  to  live  there  under  the  quiet  protection  of  the 
University.  Till  the  answer  arrives  keep  you  quiet  at  Gera, 
and  the  day  after  to-morrow  I will  send  you  a parcel  and  say 


more. 


220 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


“ Believe  me  you  are  not  a burden  on  me  ; on  the  contrary, 
it  teaches  me  economy ; I fritter  away  much  of  my  income 
which  I might  spare  for  those  in  want.  And  do  you  think 
that  your  tears  and  blessings  go  for  nothing  ? He  who  has , 
must  give , not  bless  ; and  if  the  Great  and  the  Rich  have  divided 
between  them  the  goods  of  this  world,  Fate  has  counterbalanced 
these  by  giving  to  the  wretched  the  powers  of  blessing,  powers  to 
which  the  fortunate  know  not  how  to  aspire .” 

Noble  words ! In  the  mouth  of  a pharisaical  philan- 
thropist declaiming  instead  of  giving , there  would  be  some- 
thing revolting  in  such  language  ; but  when  we  know  that  the 
hand  which  wrote  these  words  was  “ open  as  day  to  melting 
charity,”  when  we  know  that  (in  spite  of  all  other  claims)  he 
gave  up  for  some  years  the  sixth  part  of  his  very  moderate 
income  to  rescue  this  stranger  from  want,  when  we  know  by 
the  irrefragable  arguments  of  deeds,  that  this  language  was 
no  hollow  phrase,  but  the  deep  and  solemn  utterance  of  a 
thoroughly  human  heart,  then  indeed  those  words  awaken  re- 
verberations within  our  hearts,  calling  up  feelings  of  loving 
reverence  for  him  who  uttered  them. 

How  wise  and  kind  is  this  also : “ Perhaps  there  will  soon 
turn  up  occasions  for  you  to  be  useful  to  me  where  you  are, 
for  it  is  not  the  Project-maker  and  Promiser,  but  he  who  in 
trifles  affords  real  service,  that  is  welcome  to  one  who  would 
so  willingly  do  something  good  and  enduring. 

“ Hate  not  the  poor  philanthropists  with  their  precautions 
and  conditions,  for  one  need  diligently  pray  to  retain,  amid  such 
bitter  experience,  the  good-will,  courage,  and  levity  of  youth, 
which  are  the  main  ingredients  of  benevolence.  And  it  is 
more  than  a benefit  which  God  bestows  when  he  calls  us,  who 
can  so  seldom  do  anything  to  lighten  the  burden  of  one  truly 
wretched.” 

The  next  letter,  dated  December  n,  explains  itself : — 


1778.] 


THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST. 


221 


“ Your  letter  of  the  7th  I received  early  this  morning. 
And  first,  to  calm  your  mind  : you  shall  be  forced  to  noth- 
ing ; the  hundred  dollars  you  shall  have,  live  where  you  may : 
but  now  listen  to  me. 

“ I know  that  to  a man  his  ideas  are  realities  ; and  al- 
though the  image  you  have  of  Jena  is  false,  still  I know  that 
^nothing  is  less  easily  reasoned  away  than  such  hypochon- 
driacal anxieties.  I think  Jena  the  best  place  for  your  resi- 
dence, and  for  many  reasons.  The  University  has  long  lost  its 
ancient  wildness  and  aristocratic  prejudices  ; the  students  are 
not  worse  than  in  other  places,  and  among  them  there  are  some 
charming  people.  In  Jena  they  are  so  accustomed  to  the 
flux  and  reflux  of  men,  that  no  individual  is  remarked.  And 
there  are  too  many  living  in  excessively  straitened  means,  for 
poverty  to  be  either  a stigma  or  a noticeable  peculiarity. 
Moreover  it  is  a city  where  you  can  more  easily  procure  all 
necessities.  In  the  country  during  the  winter,  ill,  and  with- 
out medical  advice,  would  not  that  be  miserable  ? 

“ Further,  the  people  to  whom  I referred  you  are  good 
domestic  people,  who,  on  my  account,  would  treat  you  well. 
Whatever  might  occur  to  you,  I should  be  in  a condition,  one 
way  or  another,  to  assist  you.  I could  aid  you  in  establishing 
yourself : need  only  for  the  present  guarantee  your  board 
and  lodging,  and  pay  for  it  later  on.  I could  give  you  a little 
on  New  Year’s  day,  and  procure  what  was  necessary  on 
credit.  You  would  be  nearer  to  me.  Every  market  day  I 
could  send  you  something,  — wine,  victuals,  utensils  that  would 
cost  me  little,  and  would  make  your  existence  more  tolerable ; 
and  I could  thus  make  you  more  a part  of  my  household  ex- 
penses. The  objection  to  Gera  is,  that  communication  with 
it  is  so  difficult ; things  do  not  arrive  at  proper  times,  and 
cost  money  which  benefits  no  one.  You  would  probably  re- 
main six  months  in  Jena  before  any  one  remarked  your 


222 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFJZ.  [book  iv. 


presence.  This  is  the  reason  why  I preferred  Jena  to  every 
other  place,  and  you  would  do  the  same  if  you  could  but  see 
things  with  untroubled  vision.  How,  if  you  were  to  make  a 
trial  ? However,  I know  a fly  can  distract  a man  with 
sensitive  nerves,  and  that,  in  such  cases,  reasoning  is  power- 
less. 

“ Consider  it : it  will  make  all  things  easier.  I promise  you, 
you  will  be  comfortable  in  Jena.  But  if  you  cannot  overcome 
your  objections,  then  remain  in  Gera.  At  New  Year  you  shall 
have  twenty-five  dollars,  and  the  same  regularly  every  quarter. 
I cannot  arrange  it  otherwise.  I must  look  to  my  own  house- 
hold demands ; that  which  I have  given  you  already,  because 
I was  quite  unprepared  for  it,  has  made  a hole,  which  I must 
stop  up  as  I can.  If  you  were  in  Jena,  I could  give  you 
some  little  commissions  to  execute  for  me,  and  perhaps 
some  occupation  ; I could  also  make  your  personal  acquaint- 
ance, and  so  on.  But  act  just  as  your  feelings  dictate  ; if  my 
reasons  do  not  convince  you,  remain  in  your  present  solitude. 
Commence  the  writing  of  your  life,  as  you  talk  of  doing,  and 
send  it  me  piecemeal,  and  be  persuaded  that  I am  only  anx- 
ious for  your  quiet  and  comfort,  and  choose  Jena  simply  be- 
cause I could  there  do  more  for  you.” 

The  hypochondriacal  fancies  of  the  poor  man  were  invinci- 
ble ; and  instead  of  going  to  Jena  he  went  to  Ilmenau,  where 
Goethe  secured  him  a home,  and  sent  him  books  and  money. 
Having  thus  seen  to  his  material  comforts,  he  besought  him  to 
occupy  his  mind  by  writing  out  the  experience  of  his  life,  and 
what  he  had  observed  on  his  travels.  In  the  following  letter 
he  refers  to  his  other  protege , Peter  Imbaumgarten : — 

“ I am  very  glad  the  contract  is  settled.  Your  mainte- 
nance thus  demands  a hundred  dollars  yearly,  and  I will  guar- 
antee the  twenty-five  dollars  quarterly,  and  contrive  also  that 
by  the  end  of  this  month  you  shall  receive  a regular  allowance 


1773.] 


THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST. 


223 


for  pocket-money.  I will  also  send  what  I can  in  natura , 
such  as  paper,  pens,  sealing-wax,  etc.  Meanwhile  here  are 
some  books. 

“ Thanks  for  your  news  ; continue  them.  The  wish  to  do 
good  is  a bold,  proud  wish  ; we  must  be  thankful  when  we 
can  secure  even  a little  bit.  I have  now  a proposition  to 
make.  When  you  are  in  your  new  quarters  I wish  you  would 
pay  some  attention  to  a boy,  whose  education  I have  under- 
taken, and  who  learns  the  huntsman’s  craft  in  Ilmenau.  He 
has  begun  French;  could  you  not  assist  him  in  it  ? He  draws 
nicely;  could  you  not  keep  him  to  it  ? I would  fix  the  hours 
when  he  should  come  to  you.  You  would  lighten  my  anxiety 
about  him  if  you  could  by  friendly  intercourse  ascertain  the 
condition  of  his  mind,  and  inform  me  of  it ; and  if  you  could 
keep  an  eye  upon  his  progress.  But  of  course  this  depends 
on  your  feeling  disposed  to  undertake  such  a task.  Judging 
from  myself, — intercourse  with  children  always  makes  me  feel 
young  and  happy.  On  hearing  your  answer,  I will  write  more 
particulars.  You  will  do  me  a real  service , and  I shall  be  able 
to  add  monthly  the  trifle  which  I have  set  aside  for  the  boy's  ed- 
ucation. I trust  I shall  still  be  able  to  lighten  your  sad  con- 
dition, so  that  you  may  recover  your  cheerfulness.” 

Let  me  call  attention  to  the  delicacy  with  which  he  here 
intimates  that  he  does  not  mean  to  occupy  Kraft’s*  time 
without  remunerating  it.  If  that  passage  be  thoroughly 
considered,  it  will  speak  as  much  for  the  exquisite  kindness  of 
Goethe  s nature  as  any  greater  act  of  liberality.  Few  persons 
would  have  considered  themselves  unentitled  to  ask  such  a 
service  from  one  whose  existence  they  had  secured.  To  pay 
for  it  would  scarcely  have  entered  their  thoughts.  But 
Goethe  felt  that  to  demand  a service,  which  might  be  irk- 
some, would,  in  a certain  way,  be  selling  benevolence ; if  he 

* Herr  Kraft  was  the  assumed  name  of  this  still  anonymous  protegC. 


224 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


employed  Kraft’s  time,  it  was  right  that  he  should  pay  what  he 
would  have  paid  another  master.  On  the  other  hand,  he  in- 
stinctively shrank  from  the  indelicacy  of  making  a decided 
bargain.  It  was  necessary  to  intimate  that  the  lessons  would 
be  paid  for ; but  with  that  intimation  he  also  conveyed  the 
idea  that  in  undertaking  such  a task  Kraft  would  be  confer- 
ring an  obligation  upon  him ; so  that  Kraft  might  show  his 
gratitude,  might  benefit  his  benefactor,  and  nevertheless  be 
benefited.  After  reading  such  a sentence,  I could,  to  use 
Wieland’s  expression,  “ have  eaten  Goethe  for  love  ! ” 

Kraft  accepted  the  charge  ; and  Goethe  having  sent  him 
some  linen  for  shirts,  some  cloth  for  a coat,  and  begged  him 
to  write  without  the  least  misgiving,  now  sends  this  letter : — 

“ Many  thanks  for  your  care  of  Peter  ; the  boy  greatly  in- 
terests me,  for  he  is  a legacy  of  the  unfortunate  Lindau.  Do 
him  all  the  good  you  can  quietly.  How  you  may  advance 
him  ! I care  not  whether  he  reads,  draws,  or  learns  French, 
so  that  he  does  occupy  his  time,  and  I hear  your  opinion  of 
him.  For  the  present,  let  him  consider  his  first  object  is  to 
acquire  the  huntsman’s  craft,  and  try  to  learn  from  him  how 
he  likes  it,  and  how  he  gets  on  with  it.  For,  believe  me,  man 
must  have  a trade  which  will  support  him.  The  artist  is 
never  paid  ; it  is  the  artisan.  Chodowiecki,  the  artist  whom 
we  admire,  would  eat  but  scanty  mouthfuls ; but  Chodowiecki, 
the  artisan,  who  with  his  woodcuts  illumines  the  most  misera- 
ble daubs,  he  is  paid.” 

In  a subsequent  letter  he  says : “Many  thanks.  By  your  at- 
tention to  these  things,  and  your  care  of  Peter,  you  have  per- 
formed true  service  for  me,  and  richly  repaid  all  that  I may 
have  been  able  to  do  for  you.  Be  under  no  anxiety  about  the 
future,  there  will  certainly  occur  opportunities  wherein  you 
can  be  useful  to  me ; meanwhile,  continue  as  heretofore.” 
This  was  written  on  the  very  day  of  his  return  to  Weimar 


THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST. 


225 


1778.] 

from  the  Swiss  journey ! If  this  tells  us  of  his  attention  to 
his  prolegt  the  next  letter  tells  us  of  his  anticipating  even 
the  casualty  of  death,  for  he  had  put  Kraft  on  the  list  of  those 
whom  he  left  as  legacies  of  benevolence  to  his  friends.  It 
should  be  remarked  that  Goethe  seems  to  have  preserved  pro- 
found secrecy  with  respect  to  the  good  he  was  then  doing ; 
not  even  in  his  confidential  letters  to  Frau  von  Stein  is  there 
one  hint  of  Kraft’s  existence.  In  short,  nothing  is  wanting  to 
complete  the  circle  of  genuine  benevolence. 

The  year  1781  began  with  an  increase  of  Kraft’s  pension  ; 
or  rather,  instead  of  paying  a hundred  dollars  for  his  board 
and  lodging,  and  allowing  him  pocket-money,  he  made  the 
sum  two  hundred  dollars.  “ I can  spare  as  much  as  that ; 
and  you  need  not  be  anxious  about  every  trifle,  but  can  lay 
out  your  money  as  you  please.  Adieu;  and  let  me  soon 
hear  that  all  your  sorrows  have  left  'you.”  This  advance 
seems  to  have  elicited  a demand  for  moi'e  money,  which  pro- 
duced the  following  characteristic  answer  : — 

“ You  have  done  well  to  disclose  the  whole  condition  of 
your  mind  to  me  : I can  make  all  allowances,  little  as  I may 
be  able  to  completely  calm  you.  My  own  affairs  will  not  per- 
mit me  to  promise  you  a farthing  more  than  the  two  hundred 
dollars,  unless  I were  to  get  into  debt,  which  in  my  place 
would  be  very  unseemly.  This  sum  you  shall  receive  regu- 
larly. Try  to  make  it  do. 

“I  certainly  do  not  suppose  that  you  will  change  your 
place  of  residence  without  my  knowledge  and  consent. 
Every  man  has  his  duty:  make  a duty  of  your  love  to  me  and 
you  will  find  it  light. 

“It  would  be  very  disagreeable  to  me  if  you  were  to  bor- 
row from  any  one.  It  is  precisely  this  miserable  unrest  now 
troubling  you  which  has  been  the  misfortune  of  your  whole 
life,  and  you  Have  never  been  more  contented  with  a thousand 
10*  o 


226  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 

dollars  than  you  now  are  with  two  hundred  ; because  you 
always  still  desired  something  which  you  had  not,  and  have 
never  accustomed  your  soul  to  accept  the  limits  of  necessity. 
I do  not  reproach  you  with  it ; I know,  unhappily  too  well, 
how  it  pertains  to  you,  and  feel  how  painful  must  be  the  con- 
trast between  your  present  and  your  past.  But  enough ! One 
word  for  a thousand  : at  the  end  of  every  quarter  you  shall 
receive  fifty  dollars ; for  the  present  an  advance  shall  be 
made.  Limit  your  wants : the  Must  is  hard,  and  yet  solely 
by  this  Must  can  we  show  how  it  is  with  us  in  our  inner  man. 
To  live  according  to  caprice  requires  no  peculiar  powers.”* 

The  following  explains  itself : — 

“ If  you  once  more  read  over  my  last  letter,  you  will  see 
plainly  that  you  have  misinterpreted  it.  You  are  neither 
fallen  in  my  esteem,  nor  have  I a bad  opinion  of  you,  neither 
have  I suffered  my  good  opinion  to  be  led  astray,  nor  has 
your  mode  of  thinking  become  damaged  in  my  eyes  ; all 
these  are  exaggerated  expressions,  such  as  a rational  man 
should  not  permit  himself.  Because  I also  speak  out  my 
thoughts  with  freedom,  because  I wish  certain  traits  in  your 
conduct  and  views  somewhat  different,  does  that  mean  that  I 
look  on  you  as  a bad  man , and  that  I wish  to  discontinue 
our  relations  ? 

“It  is  these  hypochondriacal,  weak,  and  exaggerated  no- 
tions, such  as  your  last  letter  contains,  which  I blame  and 
regret.  Is  it  proper  that  you  should  say  to  me,  I am  to  pre- 
scribe the  tone  in  which  all  your  future  letters  must  be  written  ? 
Does  one  command  an  honorable,  rational  man  such  things 
as  that  ? Is  it  ingenuous  in  you  on  such  an  occasion  to  un- 
derline the  words  that  you  eat  my  bread  ? Is  it  becoming  in 

* I will  give  the  original  of  this  fine  saying,  as  I have  rendered  it  but 
clumsily  : Das  Muss  ist  hart,  aber  deim  Muss  kann  der  Mensch  allein 
zeigen  wie’s  inwendig  mit  ihm  steht.  Willkiirlich  leben'kann  jeder. 


i778] 


THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST. 


227 


a moral  being,  when  one  gently  blames  him,  or  names  some- 
thing in  him  as  a malady,  to  fly  out  as  if  one  hacf  pulled  the 
house  about  his  ears  ? Do  not  misconstrue  me,  therefore,  if 
I wish  to  see  you  contented  and  satisfied  with  the  little  I can  do 
for  you.  So,  if  you  will,  things  shall  remain  just  as  they  were ; 
at  all  events  I shall  not  change  my  behavior  towards  you.” 

The  unhappy  man  seems  to  have  been  brought  to  a sense 
of  his  unjustice  by  this,  for  although  there  is  but  one  more 
letter,  bearing  the  date  1783,  that  is,  two  years  subsequent  to 
the  one  just  given,  the  connection  lasted  for  seven  years. 
When  Goethe  undertook  to  write  the  life  of  Duke  Bernhard, 
he  employed  Kraft  to  make  extracts  for  him  from  the 
Archives  ; which  extracts,  Luden,  when  he  came  to  look  over 
them  with  a biographical  purpose,  found  utterly  worthless.* 
The  last  words  we  find  of  Goethe’s  addressed  to  Kraft  are  : 
“You  have  already  been  of  service  to  me,  and  other  oppor- 
tunities will  offer.  I have  no  grace  to  dispense,  and  my  fa- 
vor is  not  so  fickle.  Farewell,  and  enjoy  your  little  in  peace.” 
It  was  terminated  only  by  the  death  of  the  poor  creature 
in  1785.  Goethe  buried  him  at  his  own  expense,  but  even 
to  the  Jena  officials  he  did  not  disclose  Kraft’s  real  name.t 

To  my  apprehension  these  letters  reveal  a nature  so  ex- 
quisite in  far-thoughted  tenderness,  so  true  and  human  in  its 
sympathies  with  suffering,  and  so  ready  to  alleviate  suffering 
by  sacrifices  rarely  made  to  friends,  much  less  to  strangers, 
that,  after  reading  them,  the  epithets  of  “ cold  ” and  “ heart- 
less,” often  applied  to  Goethe,  sound  like  blasphemies  against 
the  noblest  feelings  of  humanity.  Observe,  this  Kraft  was 
no  romantic  object  appealing  to  the  sensibility ; he  had  no 
thrilling  story  to  stimulate  sympathy ; there  was  no  subscrip- 

* See  Luden’s  Riickblicke  in  Mein  Leben. 

t I learn  this  from  a letter  to  the  Judge  at  Jena,  which  was  exhibited 
at  the  Goethe  Ausstellung  in  B.erlin,  186 1. 


228 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  iv. 


tion  list  opened  for  him  ; there  were  no  coteries  weeping  over 
his  misfortunes.  Unknown,  unfriended,  ill  at  ease  with  him- 
self and  with  the  world,  he  revealed  his  wretchedness  in 
secret  to  the  great  poet,  and  in  secret  that  poet  pressed  his 
hand,  dried  his  eyes,  and  ministered  to  his  wants.  And  he 
did  this  not  as  one  act,  not  as  one  passing  impulse,  but  as 
the  sustained  sympathy  of  seven  years. 

Pitiful  and  pathetic  is  the  thought  that  such  a man  can,  for 
so  many  years,  both  in  his  own  country  and  in  ours,  have 
been  reproached,  nay,  even  vituperated,  as  cold  and  heart- 
less ! A certain  reserve  and  stiffness  of  manner,  a certain 
soberness  of  old  age,  a want  of  political  enthusiasm,  and 
some  sentences  wrenched  from  their  true  meaning,  are  the 
evidences  whereon  men  build  the  strange  hypothesis  that  he 
was  an  Olympian  J ove  sitting  above  Humanity,  seeing  life  but 
not  feeling  it,  his  heart  dead  to  all  noble  impulses,  his  career 
a calculated  egotism.  And  in  this  world  in  which  there  are 
so  few  voices  and  so  many  echoes,  a phrase  easily  becomes 
a tradition.  Hundreds  now  repeat  like  parrots  the  phrase 
which  describes  Goethe  as  calmly  contemplating  life  after 
the  manner  of  the  Gods.  How  it  was  that  one  so  heartless 
became  the  greatest  poet  of  modern  times,  — how  it  was  that 
he  whose  works  contained  the  widest  compass  of  human  life, 
should  himself  be  a bloodless,  pulseless  diplomatist,  — no  one 
thought  of  explaining  till  Menzel  arose,  and  with  unparal- 
leled effrontery  maintained  that  Goethe  had  no  genius,  but 
only  talent,  and  that  the  miracle  of  his  works  lies  in  their 
style, — a certain  adroitness  in  representation.  Menzel  is  a 
man  so  completely  rejected  by  England,  the  translation  of 
his  work  met  with  such  hopeless  want  of  encouragement,  that 
I am  perhaps  wrong  to  waste  a line  upon  it ; but  the  bold  style 
in  which  his  trenchant  accusations  are  made,  and  the  as- 
sumption of  a certain  manliness  as  the  momentum  to  his  sar- 


1778.] 


THE  REAL  PHILANTHROPIST. 


229 


casms,  have  given  his  attacks  on  Goethe  a circulation  inde- 
pendent of  his  book.  To  me  he  appears  radically  incompe- 
tent to  appreciate  a poet.  I should  as  soon  think  of  asking 
the  first  stalwart  Kentish  farmer  for  his  opinion  on  the  Par- 
thenon. The  farmer  would  doubtless  utter  some  energetic 
sentences  expressing  his  sense  of  its  triviality ; but  the  coarse 
energy  of  his  language  would  not  supply  the  place  of  knowl- 
edge, feeling,  and  taste  ; nor  does  the  coarse  energy  of  Men- 
zel’s  style  supply  those  deficiencies  of  nature  and  education 
which  incapacitate  him  for  the  perception  of  Art. 

The  paradox  still  remains,  then,  in  spite  of  Menzel  : a 
great  poet  destitute  of  the  feelings  which  poetry  incarnates, 
— a man  destitute  of  soul  giving  expression  to  all  the  emo- 
tions he  has  not,  — a man  who  wrote  Werther , Egmont , Faust , 
Hermann  und  Dorothea , and  Meister , yet  knew  not  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  his  kind ; will  any  one  defend  that  paradox?* 
Not  only  that  paradox,  but  this  still  more  inexplicable  one, 
that  all  who  knew  Goethe,  whether  they  were  his  peers  or  his 
servants,  loved  him  only  as  lovable  natures  can  be  loved. 
Children,  women,  clerks,  professors,  poets,  princes, — all 
loved  him.  Even  Herder,  bitter  against  every  one,  spoke  of 
him  with  a reverence  which  astonished  Schiller,  who  writes  : 
“ He  is  by  many  besides  Herder  named  with  a species  of 
devotion,  and  still  more  loved  as  a man  than  admired  as  an 
author.  Herder  says  he  has  a clear,  universal  mind,  the 
truest  and  deepest  feeling,  and  the  greatest  purity  of  heart.”  t 
Men  might  learn  so  much  from  his  works,  had  not  the  notion 
of  his  coldness  and  indifference  disturbed  their  judgment. 

* I remember  once,  as  we  were  walking  along  Piccadilly,  talking  about 
the  infamous  Biichlein  von  Goethe , Carlyle  stopped  suddenly,  and  with 
his  peculiar  look  and  emphasis  said  : “ Yes,  it  is  the  wild  cry  of  amaze- 
ment on  the  part  of  all  spooneys  that  the  Titan  was  not  a spooney  too  ! 
Here  is  a godlike  intellect,  and  yet  you  see  he  is  not  an  idiot ! Not  in 
the  least  a spooney  ! ” 

t Brie/w.  mit  K timer,  I.  p.  136. 


230 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  iv. 


“In  no  line,”  says  Carlyle,  “does  he  speak  with  asperity  of 
any  man,  scarcely  of  anything.  He  knows  the  good  and 
loves  it  ; he  knows  the  bad  and  hateful  and  rejects  it ; but  in 
neither  case  with  violence.  His  love  is  calm  and  active ; his 
rejection  implied  rather  than  pronounced.” 

And  Schiller,  when  he  came  to  appreciate  by  daily  inter- 
course the  qualities  of  his  great  friend,  thus  wrote  of  him  : 
“ It  is  not  the  greatness  of  his  intellect  which  binds  me  to 
him.  If  he  were  not  as  a man  more  admirable  than  any  I 
have  ever  known,  I should  only  marvel  at  his  genius  from  the 
distance.  But  I can  truly  say  that  in  the  six  years  I have 
lived  with  him,  I have  never  for  one  moment  been  deceived 
in  his  character.  He  has  a high  truth  and  integrity,  and  is 
thoroughly  in  earnest  for  the  Right  and  the  Good ; hence  all 
hypocrites  and  phrase-makers  are  uncomfortable  in  his  pres- 
ence.” And  the  man  of  whom  Schiller  could  think  thus  is 
believed  by  many  to  have  been  a selfish  egotist,  “ wanting  in 
the  higher  moral  feelings  ! ” 

But  so  it  is  in  life  : a rumor,  originating  perhaps  in  thought- 
less ignorance,  and  circulated  by  malice,  gains  credence  in 
spite  of  its  improbability,  and  then  no  amount  of  evidence 
suffices  to  dissipate  it.  There  is  an  atmosphere  round  certain 
names,  a halo  of  glory  or  a halo  of  infamy,  and  men  are  aware 
of  the  halo  without  seeking  to  ascertain  its  origin.  Every 
public  man  is  in  some  respects  mythical  ; and  fables  are 
believed  in  spite  of  all  the  contradictions  of  evidence.  It  is 
useless  to  hope  that  men  will  pause  to  inquire  into  the  truth 
of  wrhat  they  hear  said  of  another,  before  accepting  and  re- 
peating it ; but  with  respect  to  Goethe,  who  has  now  been 
nearly  half  a century  in  his  grave,  one  may  hope  that  evi- 
dence so  strong  as  these  pages  furnish  may  be  held  more 
worthy  of  credence  than  anything  which  gossip  or  ignorance, 
misconception  or  partisanship,  has  put  forth  without  proof. 


BOOK  THE  FIFTH. 


1779  TO  I793. 


CHAPTER  I. 

NEW  BIRTH. 

The  changes  slowly  determining  the  evolution  of  charac- 
ter, when  from  the  lawlessness  of  Youth  it  passes  into  the 
clear  stability  of  Manhood,  resemble  the  evolution  of  har- 
mony in  the  tuning  of  an  orchestra,  when  from  stormy  dis- 
cords wandering  in  pursuit  of  concord,  all  the  instruments 
gradually  subside  into  the  true  key  : round  a small  centre  the 
hurrying  sounds  revolve,  one  by  one  falling  into  that  centre, 
and  increasing  its  circle,  at  first  slowly,  and  afterwards  with 
ever-accelerated  velocity,  till  victorious  concord  emerges 
from  the  tumult.  Or  they  may  be  likened  to  the  gathering 
splendor  of  the  dawn,  as  at  first  slowly,  and  afterwards  with 
silent  velocity,  it  drives  the  sullen  darkness  to  the  rear,  and 
with  a tidal  sweep  of  light  takes  tranquil  possession  of  the 
sky.  Images  such  as  these  represent  the  dawn  of  a new 
epoch  in  Goethe’s  life,  — an  epoch  when  the  wanderings  of 
an  excitable  nature  are  gradually  falling  more  and  more 
within  the  circle  of  law ; when  aims,  before  vague,  now 
become  clear;  when  in 'the  recesses  of  his  mind  much  that 
was  fluent  becomes  crystallized  by  the  earnestness  which  gives 
a definite  purpose  to  his  life.  All  men  of  genius  go  through 
this  process  of  crystallization.  Their  youths  are  disturbed 
by  the  turbulence  of  errors  and  of  passions ; if  they  outlive 
these  errors  they  convert  them  into  advantages.  Just  as  the 


232 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


sides  of  great  mountain  ridges  are  rent  by  fissures  filled  with 
molten  rock,  which  fissures,  when  the  lava  cools,  act  like  vast 
supporting  ribs  strengthening  the  mountain  mass,  so,  in  men 
of  genius,  passions  first  rend,  and  afterwards  buttress  life. 
The  diamond,  it  is  said,  can  only  be  polished  by  its  own 
dust ; is  not  this  symbolical  of  the  truth  that  only  by  its  own 
fallings-off  can  genius  properly  be  taught  ? And  is  not  our 
very  walk,  as  Goethe  says,  a series  of  falls  ? 

He  was  now  (1779)  entering  his  thirtieth  year.  Life 
slowly  emerged  from  the  visionary  mists  through  which  hith- 
erto it  had  been  seen ; the  solemn  earnestness  of  manhood 
took  the  place  of  the  vanishing  thoughtlessness  of  youth,  and 
gave  a more  commanding  unity  to  his  existence.  He  had 
“ resolved  to  deal  with  Life  no  longer  by  halves,  but  to  work 
it  out  in  its  totality,  beauty,  and  goodness,  — vom  Halbem  zu 
entwohnen , und  im  Ganzen,  Guten,  Schonen  resolut  zu  leben .” 
It  is  usually  said  that  the  residence  in  Italy  was  the  cause  of  ' 
this  change  ; but  the  development  of  his  genius  was  the  real 
cause.  The  slightest  acquaintance  with  the  period  we  are 
now  considering  suffices  to  prove  that  long  before  he  went  to 
Italy  the  change  had  taken  place.  An  entry  in  his  Diary  at 
this  date  is  very  significant.  “ Put  my  things  in  order,  looked 
through  my  papers,  and  burnt  all  the  old  chips.  Other  times, 
other  cares  ! Calm  retrospect  of  Life,  and  the  extravagances, 
impulses,  and  eager  desires  of  youth ; how  they  seek  satis- 
faction in  all  directions.  How  I have  found  delight,  espe- 
cially in  mysteries,  in  dark  imaginative  connections ; how  I 
only  half  seized  hold  of  Science,  and  then  let  it  slip  ; how  a 
sort  of  modest  self-complacency  runs  through  all  I wrote  ; 
how  short-sighted  I was  in  divine  and  human  things  ; how 
many  days  wasted  in  sentiments  and  shadowy  passions ; how 
little  good  I have  drawn  from  them,  and  now  the  half  of  life 
is  over,  I find  myself  advanced  no  step  on  my  way,  but  stand 


NEW  BIRTH. 


233 


I779-J 

here  as  one  who,  escaped  from  the  waves,  begins  to  dry  him- 
self in  the  sun ! The  period  in  which  I have  mingled  with 
the  world  since  October,  1775,  I dare  not  yet  trust  myself  to 
look  at.  God  help  me  further,  and  give  me  light,  that  I may 
not  so  much  stand  in  my  own  way,  but  see  to  do  from  morn- 
ing till  evening  the  work  which  lies  before  me,  and  obtain  a 
clear  conception  of  the  order  of  things,  that  I be  not  as 
those  are  who  spend  the  day  in  complaining  of  headache, 
and  the  night  in  drinking  the  wine  which  gives  the  head- 
ache ! ” 

There  is  something  quite  solemn  in  those  words.  The 
same  thought  is  expressed  in  a letter  to  Lavater : “ The 
desire  to  raise  the  pyramid  of  my  existence,  the  basis  of 
which  is  already  laid,  as  high  as  practicable  in  the  air,  ab- 
sorbs every  other  desire,  and  scarcely  ever  quits  me.  I dare 
not  longer  delay ; I am  already  advanced  in  life,  and  perhaps 
Death  will  break  in  at  the  middle  of  my  work,  and  leave  the 
Babelonic  tower  incomplete.  At  least  men  shall  say  it  was 
boldly  schemed,  and  if  I live  my  powers  shall,  with  God’s 
aid,  reach  the  completion.”  And  in  a recently,  published 
letter  to  the  Duke,  he  says : “ I let  people  say  what  they 
will,  and  then  I retire  into  my  old  fortress  of  Poetry  and 
work  at  my  Iphigenia.  By  this  I am  made  sensible  that  I 
have  been  treating  this  heavenly  gift  somewhat  too  cavalierly, 
and  there  is  still  time  and  need  for  me  to  become  more  eco- 
nomical if  ever  I am  to  bring  forth  anything.”  * 

No  better  index  of  the  change  can  be  named  than  his 
Iphigenia  auf  Tauris , written  at  this  period.  The- reader  will 
learn  with  some  surprise  that  this  wonderful  poem  was  origi- 
nally written  in  prose.  It  was  the  fashion  of  the  day.  Gotz, 
Egmont , Tasso , and  Iphigenia,  no  less  than  Schiller’s  Robbers , 
Fiesco , Kabale  und  Liebe,  were  written  in  prose ; and  when 


* Briefwechsel  zwischen  Karl  August  und  Goethe , I.  ii. 


234 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


Iphigenia  assumed  a poetic  form,  the  Weimar  friends  were 
disappointed,  — they  preferred  the  prose. 

This  was  part  of  the  mania  for  returning  to  Nature.  Verse 
was  pronounced  unnatural  : a fallacy : verse  is  not  more  un- 
natural than  song.  Song  is  to  speech  what  poetry  is  to  prose  ; 
it  expresses  a different  mental  condition.  Impassioned  prose 
approaches  poetry  in  the  rhythmic  impulse jDf  its  movements ; 
as  impassioned  speech  in  its  various  cadences  also  ap- 
proaches the  intonations  of  music.  Under  great  emotional 
excitement,  the  Arabs  give  their  language  a recognizable 
metre,  and  almost  talk  poetry.  But  prose  never  is  poetry,  or 
is  so  only  for  a moment ; nor  is  speech  song.  Schiller 
learned  to  see  this,  and  we  find  him  writing  to  Goethe : “ I 
have  never  before  been  so  palpably  convinced  as  in  my  pres- 
ent occupation  how  closely  in  poetry  Substance  and  Form 
are  connected.  Since  I have  begun  to  transform  my  prosaic 
language  into  a poetic  rhythmical  one,  I find  myself  under  a 
totally  different  jurisdiction  ; even  many  motives  which  in  the 
prosaic  execution  seemed  to  me  to  be  perfectly  in  place,  I 
can  no  longer  use  : they  were  merely  good  for  the  common 
domestic  understanding , whose  organ  prose  seems  to  be;  but  verse 
absolutely  demands  reference  to  the  imagination,  and  thus  I 
was  obliged  to  become  poetical  in  many  of  my  motives.” 

That  Goethe  should  have  fallen  into  the  fallacy  which  as- 
serted prose  to  be  more  natural  than  verse  is  surprising. 
His  mind  was  full  of  song.  To  the  last  he  retained  the  fac- 
ulty of  singing  melodiously,  when  his  prose  had  degenerated 
into  comparative  feebleness.  And  this  prose  Iphige?na  is 
saturated  with  verses ; which  is  also  the  case  with  Egmont. 
He  meant  to  write  prose,  but  his  thoughts  instinctively  ex- 
pressed themselves  in  verse.  The  critical  reader  will  do 
well  to  compare  the  prose  with  the  poetic  version.*  He 

* See  Vol.  XXXIV.  of  the  edition  of  1840. 


I779-] 


NEW  BIRTH. 


235 


will  not  only  see  how  frequent  the  verses  are,  but  how  few 
were  the  alterations  necessary  to  be  made  to  transform  the 
prose  drama  into  a poem.  They  are  just  the  sort  of  touches 
which  elevate  poetry  above  prose.  Thus,  to  give  an  exam- 
ple, in  the  prose  he  says  : unnutz  seyn,  ist  todt  seyn  (to  be 
useless  is  to  be  dead),  which  thus  grows  into  a verse,  — 

“ Ein  unnutz  Leben  ist  ein  friiher  Tod.* 

Again,  in  the  speech  of  Orestes  (Act  II.  Sec.  I.),  there  is  a 
fine  and  terrible  allusion  to  Clytemnestra,  — “ Better  die  here 
before  the  altar  than  in  an  obscure  nook  where  the  nets  of 
murderous  near  relatives  are  placed.”  In  the  prose  this  allu- 
sion is  not  clear  : Orestes  simply  says,  the  “ nets  of  assas- 
sins.” f 

In  the  begining  of  1779  we  find  Goethe  very  active  in  his 
new  official  duties.  He  has  accepted  the  direction  of  the 
War  Department,  which  suddenly  assumes  new  importance, 
owing  to  the  preparations  for  a war.  He  is  constantly  riding 
about  the  country,  and  doing  his  utmost  to  alleviate  the  con- 
dition of  the  people.  “ Misery,”  he  says,  “ becomes  as  pro- 
saic and  familiar  to  me  as  my  own  hearth,  but  nevertheless  I 
do  not  let  go  my  idea,  and  will  wrestle  with  the  unknown 
Angel,  even  should  I halt  upon  my  thigh.  No  man  knows 
what  I do,  and  with  how  many  foes  I fight  to  bring  forth  a 
little.” 

Among  his  undertakings  may  be  noted  an  organization  of 
Firemen,  then  greatly  wanted.  Fires  were  not  only  numer- 
ous, but  were  rendered  terrible  by  the  want  of  any  syste- 
matic service  to  subdue  them.  Goethe,  who  in  Frankfurt 
had  rushed  into  the  bewildered  crowd,  and  astonished  spec- 

* A life  not  useful  is  an  early  death. 

t Neither  Taylor  nor  Miss  Swan  wick  appears  to  have  seized  the 
allusion.  One  translates  it,  “by  the  knives  of  avenging  kindred ” \ the 
other,  “ where  near  hands  have  spread  assassination' s wily  net.” 


236 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


tators  by  his  rapid  peremptory  disposition  of  their  efforts 
into  a system,  — who  in  Apolda  and  Ettersburg  lent  aid  and 
command,  till  his  eyebrows  were  singed  and  his  feet  were 
burned, — naturally  took  it  much  to  heart  that  no  regular  ser- 
vice was  supplied ; and  he  persuaded  the  Duke  to  institute 
one. 

/ On  this  (his  thirtieth)  birthday  the  Duke,  recognizing  his 

/ official  services,  raised  him  to  the  place  of  Geheimerath . 
“ It  is  strange  and  dreamlike,”  writes  the  Frankfurt  burgher 
in  his  new-made  honor,  “ that  I in  my  thirtieth  year  enter  the 
highest  place  which  a German  citizen  can  reach.  On  ne  va 
jamais  plus  loin  que  quand  on  ne  sail  ou  Von  va,  said  a great 
climber  of  this  world.”  If  he  thought  it  strange,  Weimar 
thought  it  scandalous.  “ The  hatred  of  people  here,”  writes 
Wieland,  “ against  our  Goethe,  who  has  done  no  one  any 
harm,  has  grown  to  such  a pitch  since  he  has  been  made 
Geheimerath,  that  it  borders  on  fury.”  But  the  Duke,  if  he 
heard  these  howls,  paid  no  attention  to  them.  He  was  more 
than  ever  with  his  friend.  They  started  on  the  12th  of  Sep- 
tember on  a little  journey  into  Switzerland,  in  the  strictest 
incognito,  and  with  the  lightest  of  travelling-trunks.  They 
touched  at  Frankfurt,  and  stayed  in  the  old  house  in  the 
Hirschgraben , where  Rath  Goethe  had  the  pride  of  receiving 
not  only  his  son  as  Geheimerath,  but  the  Prince,  his  friend 
and  master.  Goethe’s  mother  was,  as  may  be  imagined,  in 
high  spirits,  — motherly  pride  and  housewifely  pride  being 
equally  stimulated  by  the  presence  of  such  guests. 

I From  Frankfurt  they  went  to  Strasburg.  There  the  rec- 
ollection of  Frederika  irresistibly  drew  him  to  Sesenheim. 
In  his  letter  to  the  Frau  von  Stein  he  says : “On  the  25th  I 
rode  towards  Sesenheim,  and  there  found  the  family  as  I had 
left  it  eight  years  ago.  I was  welcomed  in  the  most  friendly 
manner.  The  second  daughter  loved  me  in  those  days  bet- 


NEW  BIRTH. 


237 


1779-1 

ter  than  I deserved,  and  more  than  others  to  whom  I have 
given  so  much  passion  and  faith.  I was  forced  to  leave  her 
at  a moment  when  it  nearly  cost  her  her  life  ; she  passed 
lightly  over  that  episode  to  tell  me  what  traces  still  remained 
of  the  old  illness,  and  behaved  with  such  exquisite  delicacy 
and  generosity  from  the  moment  that  I stood  before  her  un- 
expected on  the  threshold,  that  I felt  quite  relieved.  I must 
do  her  the  justice  to  say  that  she  made  not  the  slightest  at- 
tempt to  rekindle  in  my  bosom  the  cinders  of  love.  She  led 
me  into  the  arbor,  and  there  we  sat  down.  It  was  a lovely 
moonlight,  and  I inquired  after  every  one  and  everything. 
Neighbors  had  spoken  of  me  not  a week  ago.  I found  old 
songs  which  I had  composed,  and  a carriage  I had  painted. 
We  recalled  many  a pastime  of  those  happy  days,  and  I found 
myself  as  vividly  conscious  of  all,  as  if  I had  been  away  only 
six  months.  The  old  people  were  frank  and  hearty,  and 
thought  me  looking  younger.  I stayed  the  night  there,  and 
departed  at  dawn,  leaving  behind  me  friendly  faces ; so  that 
I can  now  think  once  more  of  this  corner  of  the  world  with 
comfort,  and  know  that  they  are  at  peace  with  me.” 

There  is  something  very  touching  in  this  interview,  and  in 
his  narrative  of  it,  forwarded  to  the  woman  he  now  loves,  and 
who  does  not  repay  him  with  a love  like  that  which  he  be- 
lieves he  has  inspired  in  Frederika.  He  finds  this  charming 
girl  still  unmarried,  and  probably  is  not  a little  flattered  at 
the  thought  that  she  still  cherishes  his  image  to  the  exclusion 
of  every  other.  She  tells  him  of  Lenz  having  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  and  is  silent  respecting  her  own  share  in  that  little 
episode  ; a silence  which  all  can  understand  and  few  will 
judge  harshly ; the  more  so  as  her  feelings  towards  Lenz  were 
at  that  time  doubtless  far  from  tender.  Besides,  apart  from 
the  romance  of  meeting  with  an  old  lover,  there  was  the 
pride  and  charm  of  thinking  what  a world-renowned  name 


238 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  V. 


her  lover  had  achieved.  It  was  no  slight  thing  even  to  have 
been  jilted  by  such  a man ; and  she  must  have  felt  that  he 
had  not  behaved  to  her  otherwise  than  was  to  have  been  ex- 
pected under  the  circumstances. 

On  the  26th,  Goethe  rejoined  his  party,  and  “ in  the  after- 
noon I called  on  Lili,  and  found  the  lovely  Grasaffen  * with  a 
baby  of  seven  weeks  old,  her  mother  standing  by.  There 
also  I was  received  with  admiration  and  pleasure.  I made 
many  inquiries,  and  to  my  great  delight  found  the  good  crea- 
ture happily  married.  Her  husband,  from  what  I could 
learn,  seems  a worthy,  sensible  fellow,  rich,  well  placed  in  the 
world  ; in  short,  she  has  everything  she  needs.  He  was  ab- 
sent. I stayed  dinner.  After  dinner  went  with  the  Duke 
to  see  the  Cathedral,  and  in  the  evening  saw  Paesiello’s 
beautiful  opera,  L Infante  di  Zamora.  Supped  with  Lili,  and 
went  away  in  the  moonlight.  The  sweet  emotions  which  ac- 
companied me  I cannot  describe.” 

We  may  read  in  these  two  descriptions  the  difference  of 
the  two  women,  and  the  difference  of  his  feeling  for  them. 
From  Strasburg  he  went  to  Emmendingen,  and  there  visited 
his  sister’s  grave.  Accompanied  by  such  thoughts  as  these 
three  visits  must  have  called  up,  he  entered  Switzerland. 
His  Brief e aus  der  Schweitz , mainly  composed  from  the  let- 
ters to  the  Frau  von  Stein,  will  inform  the  curious  reader  of 
the  effect  these  scenes  produced  on  him  ; we  cannot  pause  here 
in  the  narrative  to  quote  from  them.  Enough  if  we  mention  that 
in  Zurich  he  spent  happy  hours  with  Lavater,  in  communication 
of  ideas  and  feelings  ; and  that  on  his  way  home  he  com- 
posed the  little  opera  of.  Jery  und  Bdtely , full  of  Swiss  inspira- 
tion. In  Stuttgart  the  Duke  took  it  into  his  head  to  visit  the 
Court,  and  as  no  presentable  costume  was  ready,  tailors  had 

* Grasaffen,  that  is,  " green  monkey,”  is  Frankfurt  slang  for  “ bud- 
ding miss,”  and  alludes  to  the  old  days  when  he  knew  Lili. 


NEW  BIRTH. 


239 


I779-] 

to  be  set  in  activity  to  furnish  the  tourists  with  the  necessary 
clothes.  They  assisted  at  the  New  Year  festivities  of  the 
Military  Academy,  and  here  for  the  first  time  Schiller,  then 
twenty  years  of  age,  with  the  Robbers  in  his  head,  saw  the  au- 
thor of  G'otz  and  Werther. 

It  is  probable  that  among  all  the  figures  thronging  in  the 
hall  and  galleries  on  that  imposing  occasion,  none  excited  in 
the  young  ambitious  student  so  thrilling  an  effect  as  that  of 
the  great  poet,  then  in  all  the  splendor  of  manhood,  in  all 
the  lustre  of  an  immense  renown.  Why  has  no  artist  chosen 
this  for  an  historical  picture  ? The  pale,  sickly  young  Schil- 
ler, in  the  stiff  military  costume  of  that  day,  with  pigtail  and 
papillotes,  with  a sword  by  his  side,  and  a three-cornered  hat 
under  his  arm,  stepping  forward  to  kiss  the  coat  of  his  sov- 
ereign Duke,  in  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  three  prizes 
awarded  to  him  for  Medicine,  Surgery,  and  Clinical  science ; 
conscious  that  Goethe  was  looking  on,  and  could  know  noth- 
ing of  the  genius  which  had  gained,  indeed,  trivial  medical 
prizes,  but  had  failed  to  gain  a prize  for  German  composi- 
tion. This  pale  youth  and  this  splendid  man  were  in  a few 
years  to  become  noble  rivals  and  immortal  friends ; to  strive 
with  generous  emulation,  and  feel  the  most  genuine  delight 
in  each  other’s  prowess ; presenting  such  an  exemplar  of  lit- 
erary friendship  as  the  world  has  seldom  seen.  At  this  mo- 
ment, although  Schiller’s  eyes  were  intensely  curious  about 
Goethe,  he  was  to  the  older  poet  nothing  beyond  a rather 
promising  medical  student. 

Karl  August  on  their  return  to  Frankfurt  again  took  up  his 
abode  in  the  Goethe  family,  paying  liberal  attention  to  Frau 
Aja’s  good  old  Rhine  wine,  and  privately  sending  her  a sum 
of  money  to  compensate  for  the  unusual  expenses  of  his  visit. 
By  the  13th  January  he  was  in  Weimar  once  more,  having 
spent  nearly  nine  thousand  dollars  on  the  journey,  including 
purchases  of  works  of  art. 


240 


THE  STORY  OF  G0ETHEyS  LIFE . [book  v. 


Both  were  considerably  altered  to  their  advantage.  In 
his  Diary  Goethe  writes  : “ I feel  daily  that  I gain  more  and 
more  the  confidence  of  people ; and  God  grant  that  I may 
deserve  it,  not  in  the  easy  way,  but  in  the  way  I wish.  What 
I endure  from  myself  and  others  no  one  sees.  The  best  is 
the  deep  stillness  in  which  I live  vis-a-vis  to  the  world,  and 
thus  win  what  fire  and  sword  cannot  rob  me  of.”  He  was 
crystallizing  slowly ; slowly  gaining  the  complete  command 
over  himself.  “ I will  be  lord  over  myself.  No  one  who  can- 
not master  himself  is  worthy  to  rule,  and  only  he  ca7i  rule.” 
But  with  such  a temperament  this  mastery  was  not  easy ; wine 
and  woman’s  tears,  he  felt,  were  among  his  weaknesses  : — 

“ Ich  konnte  viel  glxicklicher  seyn, 

Gab’s  nur  keinen  Wein 
Und  keine  Weiberthranen.” 

He  could  not  entirely  free  himself  from  either.  He  was  a 
Rhinelander,  accustomed  from  boyhood  upwards  to  the  stim- 
ulus of  wine  ; he  was  a poet,  never  aloof  from  the  fascinations 
of  woman.  But  just  as  he  was  never  known  to  lose  his  head 
with  wine,  so  also  did  he  never  lose  himself  entirely  to  a wo- 
man ; the  stimulus  never  grew  into  intoxication. 

One  sees  that  his  passion  for  the  Frau  von  Stein  continues; 
but  it  is  cooling.  It  was  necessary  for  him  to  love  some  one, 
but  he  was  loving  here  in  vain,  and  he  begins  to  settle  into  a 
calmer  affection.  He  is  also  at  this  time  thrown  more  and 
more  with  Corona  Schroter ; and  his  participation  in  the  pri- 
vate theatricals  is  not  only  an  agreeable  relaxation  from  the 
heavy  pressure  of  official  duties,  but  is  giving  him  materials 
for  Wilhelm  Meisler,  now  in  progress.  “ Theatricals,”  he  says, 
remain  among  the  few  things  in  which  I still  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  a child  and  an  artist.”  Herder,  who  had  hitherto  held 
somewhat  aloof,  now  draws  closer  and  closer  to  him,  proba- 
bly on  account  of  the  change  which  is  coming  over  his  way  of 


NEW  BIRTH. 


24I 


1 779-] 

life.  And  this  intimacy  with  Herder  awakens  in  him  the  de- 
sire to  see  Lessing;  the  projected  journey  to  Wolfenbiittel  is 
arrested,  however,  by  the  sad  news  which  now  arrives  : Les- 
sing is  dead  ; the  great  gladiator  is  at  peace. 

Not  without  significance  is  the  fact  that,  coincident  with 
this  change  in  Goethe’s  life,  comes  the  passionate  study  of 
Science ; a study  often  before  taken  up  in  desultory  impa- 
tience, but  now  commencing  with  that  seriousness  which  is  to 
project  it  as  an  active  tendency  through  the  remainder  of  his 
life.  In  an  unpublished  “ Essay  on  Granite,”  written  about 
this  period,  he  says:  “No  one  acquainted  with  the  charm 
which  the  secrets  of  Nature  have  for  man,  will  wonder  that  I 
have  quitted  the  circle  of  observations  in  which  I have  hither- 
to been  confined,  and  have  thrown  myself  with  passionate  de- 
light into  this  new  circle.  I stand  in  no  fear  of  the  reproach 
that  it  must  be  a spirit  of  contradiction  which  has  drawn  me 
from  the  contemplation  and  portraiture  of  the  human  heart  to 
that  of  Nature.  For  it  will  be  allowed  that  all  things  are  in- 
timately connected,  and  that  the  inquiring  mind  is  unwilling 
to  be  excluded  from  anything  attainable.  And  I who  have 
known  and  suffered  from  the  perpetual  agitation  of  feelings 
and  opinions  in  myself  and  in  others,  delight  in  the  sublime 
repose  which  is  produced  by  contact  with  the  great  and  elo- 
quent silence  of  Nature.”  He  was  trying  to  find  a secure  ba- 
sis for  his  aims ; it  was  natural  he  should  seek  a secure  basis 
for  his  mind ; and  with  such  a mind  that  basis  could  only  be 
found  in  the  study  of  Nature.  If  it  is  true,  as  men  of  science 
sometimes  declare  with  a sneer,  that  Goethe  w'as  a poet  in 
science  (which  does  not  in  the  least  disprove  the  fact  that  he 
was  great  in  science,  and  made  great  discoveries),  it  is  equally 
true  that  he  was  a scientific  poet.  In  a future  chapter  we 
shall  have  to  consider  what  his  position  in  science  truly  is  ; 
for  the  present  we  merely  indicate  the  course  of  his  studies. 


242 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  V. 


Buffon’s  wonderful  book,  Les  Epoques  de  la  Nature , — rendered 
antiquated  now  by  the  progress  of  geology,  but  still  attractive 
in  its  style  and  noble  thoughts,  — produced  a profound  im- 
pression on  him.  In  Buffon,  as  in  Spinoza,  and  later  on,  in 
Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire,  he  found  a mode  of  looking  at  Nature 
which  thoroughly  coincided  with  his  own,  gathering  many  de- 
tails into  a poetic  synthesis.  Saussure,  whom  he  had  seen  at 
Geneva,  led  him  to  study  mineralogy ; and  as  his  official  du- 
ties gave  him  many  occasions  to  mingle  with  the  miners,  this 
study  acquired  a practical  interest,  which  soon  grew  into  a 
passion, — much  to  the  disgust  of  Herder,  who,  with  the  im- 
patience of  one  who  thought  books  the  chief  objects  of  inter- 
est, was  constantly  mocking  him  for  “ bothering  himself  about 
stones  and  cabbages.”  To  these  studies  must  be  added  anat- 
omy, and  in  particular  osteology,  which  in  early  years  had 
also  attracted  him,  when  he  attained  knowledge  enough  to 
draw  the  heads  of  animals  for  Lavater’s  Physiognomy . He 
now  goes  to  Jena  to  study  under  Loder,  professor  of  anatomy.* 
For  these  studies  his  talent,  or  want  of  talent,  as  a draughts- 
man, had  further  to  be  cultivated.  To  improve  himself  he 
lectures  to  the  young  men  every  week  on  the  skeleton.  And 
thus,  amid  serious  duties  and  many  distractions  in  the  shape 
of  court  festivities,  balls,  masquerades,  and  theatricals,  he 
found  time  for  the  prosecution  of  many  and  various  studies. 
He  was,  like  Napoleon,  a giant-worker,  and  never  so  happy  as 
when  at  work. 

Tasso  was  conceived  and  commenced  (in  prose)  at  this 
time,  and  Wilhelm  Meister  grew  under  his  hands,  besides 
smaller  works.  But  nothing  was  published.  He  lived  for 
himself,  and  the  small  circle  of  friends.  The  public  was  never 
thought  of.  Indeed  the  public  was  then  jubilant  in  beer- 
houses, and  scandalized  in  salons,  at  the  appearance  of  the 

* Comp.  Briefw.  zwischen  Karl  August  uud  Goethe , I.  25,  26. 


NEW  BIRTH. 


243 


I779-] 

Robbers ; and  a certain  Kiittner,  in  publishing  his  Characters 
of  German  Poets  and  Prose  Writers  (1781),  could  compla- 
cently declare  that  the  shouts  of  praise  which  into'xicated  ad- 
mirers had  once  raised  for  Goethe  were  now  no  longer  heard. 
Meanwhile  Egmont  was  in  progress,  and  assuming  a far  dif- 
ferent tone  from  that  in  which  it  was  originated. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  follow  closely  all  the  details,  which  let- 
ters abundantly  furnish,  of  his  life  at  this  period.  They  will 
not  help  us  to  a nearer  understanding  of  the  man,  and  they 
would  occupy  much  space.  What  we  observe  in  them  all  is,  a 
slow  advance  to  a more  serious  and  decisive  plan  of  existence. 
On  the  27  th  of  May  his  father  dies.  On  the  1st  of  June  he 
comes  to  live  in  the  town  of  Weimar,  as  more  consonant  with 
his  position  and  avocations.  The  Duchess  Amalia  has  prom- 
ised to  give  him  a part  of  the  necessary  furniture.  He  quits 
his  Gartenhaus  with  regret,  but  makes  it  still  his  retreat  for 
happy  hours.  Shortly  afterwards  the  Duchess  Amalia  demon- 
strates to  him  at  great  length  the  necessity  of  his  being  enno- 
bled ; the  Duke,  according  to  Diintzer,  not  having  dared  to 
break  the  subject  to  him.  In  fact,  since  he  had  been  for  six 
years  at  court  without  a patent  of  nobility,  he  may  perhaps 
have  felt  the  “necessity”  as  somewhat  insulting.  Neverthe- 
less, I cannot  but  think  that  the  Frankfurt  citizen  soon  be- 
came reconciled  to  the  von  before  his  name ; the  more  so  as 
he  was  never  remarkable  fora  contempt  of  worldly  rank.  Im- 
mediately afterwards  the  President  of  the  Chamber,  von  Kalb, 
was  suddenly  dismissed  from  his  post,  and  Goethe  was  the 
substitute,  at  first  merely  occupying  the  post  ad  interim  ; but 
not  relinquishing  his  place  in  the  Privy  Council. 

More  important  to  us  is  the  relation  in  which  he  stands  to 
Karl  August,  and  to  the  Frau  von  Stein.  Whoever  reads 
with  proper  attention  the  letters  published  in  the  Stein  corre- 
spondence will  become  aware  of  a notable  change  in  their  re- 


244 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [book  v. 


lation  about  this  time  (1781-2).  The  tone,  which  had  grown 
calmer,  now  rises  again  into  passionate  fervor,  and  every  note 
reveals  the  happy  lover. 

While  he  was  thus  happy,  thus  settling  down  into  clearness, 
the  young  Duke,  not  yet  having  worked  through  the  turbu- 
lence of  youth,  was  often  in  discord  with  him.  In  the  pub- 
lished correspondence  may  be  read  confirmation  of  what  I 
have  elsewhere  learned,  namely,  that  although  during  their 
first  years  of  intimacy  the  poet  stood  on  no  etiquette  in  pri- 
vate with  his  sovereign,  and  although  to  the  last  Karl  August 
continued  the  brotherly  thou , and  the  most  affectionate  famil- 
iarity of  address,  yet  Goethe  soon  began  to  perceive  that 
another  tone  was  called  for  on  his  part.  His  letters  become 
singularly  formal  as  he  grows  older ; at  times  almost  unpleas- 
antly so.  The  Duke  writes  to  him  as  to  a friend,  and  he  re- 
plies as  to  a sovereign. 

Not  that  his  affection  diminished  ; but  as  he  grew  more  se- 
rious, he  grew  more  attentive  to  decorum.  For  the  Duchess  he 
seems  to  have  had  a tender  admiration,  something  of  which 
may  be  read  in  Tasso . Her  dignified,  though  rather  inexpres- 
sive nature,  the  greatness  of  her  heart,  and  delicacy  of  her 
mind,  would  all  the  more  have  touched  him,  because  he  knew 
and  could  sympathize  with  what  was  not  perfectly  happy  in 
her  life.  He  was  often  the  pained  witness  of  little  domestic 
disagreements,  and  had  to  remonstrate  with  the  Duke  on  his 
occasional  roughness. 

From  the  letters  to  the  Frau  von  Stein  we  gather  that 
Goethe  was  gradually  becoming  impatient  with  Karl  August, 
whose  excellent  qualities  he  cherished  while  deploring  his  ex- 
travagances.  “ Enthusiastic  as  he  is  for  what  is  good  and 
right,  he  has,  notwithstanding,  less  pleasure  in  it  than  in  what 
is  improper ; it  is  wonderful  how  reasonable  he  can  be,  what 
insight  he  has,  how  much  he  knows ; and  yet  when  he  sets 


NEW  BIRTH, ; 


245 


1779] 

about  anything  good,  he  must  needs  begin  with  something 
foolish.  Unhappily,  one  sees  it  lies  deep  in  his  nature,  and 
that  the  frog  is  made  for  the  water  even  when  he  has  lived 
some,  time  on  land.”  In  the  following  we  see  that  the  “ ser- 
vile courtier”  not  only  remonstrates  with  the  Duke,  but 
refuses  to  accompany  him  on  his  journey,  having  on  a previous 
journey  been  irritated  by  his  manners.  “ Here  is  an  epistle. 
If  you  think  right,  send  it  to  the  Duke,  speak  to  him  and  do 
not  spare  him.  I only  want  quiet  for  myself,  and  for  him  to 
know  with  whom  he  has  to  do.  You  can  tell  him  also  that  I 
have  declared  to  you  I will  never  travel  with  him  again.  Do 
this  in  your  own  prudent,  gentle  way.”  Accordingly  he  lets 
the  Duke  go  away  alone  ; but  they  seem  to  have  come  to 
some  understanding  subsequently,  and  the  threat  was  not 
fulfilled.  Two  months  after,  this  sentence  informs  us  of  the 
reconciliation  : “ I have  had  a long  and  serious  conversation 
with  the  Duke.  In  this  world,  my  best  one,  the  dramatic 
writer  has  a rich  harvest;  and  the  wise  say,  Judge  no  man 
until  you  have  stood  in  his  place.”  Later  on  we  find  him 
complaining  of  the  Duke  going  wrong  in  his  endeavors  to  do 
right.  “ God  knows  if  he  will  ever  learn  that  fireworks  at 
midday  produce  no  effect.  I don’t  like  always  playing  the 
pedagogue  and  bugbear,  and  from  the  others  he  asks  no  advice, 
nor  does  he  ever  tell  them  of  his  plans.”  Here  is  another 
glimpse  : “The  Duchess  is  as  amiable  as  possible ; the  Duke  is 
a good  creature,  and  one  could  heartily  love  him  if  he  did  not 
trouble  the  intercourse  of  life  by  his  manners,  and  did  not  make 
his  friends  indifferent  as  to  what  befalls  him  by  his  break-neck 
recklessness.  It  is  a curious  feeling,  that  of  daily  con- 
templating the  possibility  of  our  nearest  friends  breaking 
their  necks,  arms,  or  legs,  and  yet  I have  grown  quite  callous 
to  the  idea  ! ” Again  : “ The  Duke  goes  to  Dresden.  He 
has  begged  me  to  go  with  him,  or  at  least  to  follow  him, 


246 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


but  I shall  stay  here The  preparations  for  the  Dres- 

den journey  are  quite  against  my  taste.  The  Duke  arranges 
them  in  his  way,  i.  e.,  not  always  the  best,  and  disgusts  one 
after  the  other.  I am  quite  calm,  for  it  is  not  alterable,  and’ 
I only  rejoice  that  there  is  no  kingdom  for  which  such  cards 
could  be  played  often.” 

These  are  little  discordant  tones  which  must  have  arisen 
as  Goethe  grew  more  serious.  The  real  regard  he  had  for 
the  Duke  is  not  injured  by  these  occasional  outbreaks. 
“ The  Duke,”  he  writes,  “ is  guilty  of  many  follies  which  I 
willingly  forgive,  remembering  my  own.”  He  knows  that  he 
can  at  any  moment  put  his  horses  to  the  carriage  and  drive 
away  from  Weimar,  and  this  consciousness  of  freedom  makes 
him  contented  ; although  he  now  makes  up  his  mind  that  he 
is  destined  by  nature  to  be  an  author  and  nothing  else.  “ I 
have  a purer  delight  than  ever,  when  I have  written  some- 
thing which  well  expresses  what  I meant I am  truly 

born  to  be  a private  man,  and  do  not  understand  how  fate 
has  contrived  to  throw  me  into  a ministry  and  into  a princely 
family.”  As  he  grows  clearer  on  the  true  mission  of  his  life, 
he  also  grows  happier.  One  can  imagine  the  strange  feelings 
with  which  he  would  now  take  up  Werther , and  for  the  first 
time  during  ten  years  read  this  product  of  his  youth.  He 
made  some  alterations  in  it,  especially  in  the  relation  of 
Albert  to  Lotte ; and  introduced  the  episode  of  the  peasant 
who /commits  suicidedrom  jealousy.  Scholl,  in  his  notes  to 
the  Stein  Correspondence * has  called  attention  to  a point  woi- 
thy  of  notice,  namely,  that  Herder,  who  helped  Goethe  in  the 
revision  of  this  work,  had  pointed  out  to  him  the  very  same 
fault  in  its  composition  which  Napoleon  two-and-twenty  years 
later  laid  his  finger  on  ; the  fault,  namely,  of  making  W erther  s 
suicide  partly  the  consequence  of  frustrated  ambition  and 


* Vol.  III.  p.  268. 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  ITALY. 


24  7 


1783.J 

partly  of  unrequited  love,  — a fault  which,  in  spite  of  Herder 
and  Napoleon,  in  spite  also  of  Goethe’s  aquiescence,  I 
venture  to  think  no  fault  at  all,  as  will  be  seen  when  the 
interview  with  Napoleon  is  narrated. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PREPARATIONS  FOR  ITALY. 

With  the  year  1783  we^see  him  more  and  more  seriously 
occupied.  He  has  ceased  to  be  “ the  Grand  Master  of  all 
the  Apes,”  and  is  deep  in  old  books  and  archives.  The 
birth  of  a crown  prince  came  to  fill  Weimar  with  joj^  and 
give  the  Duke"X^ttdtlen  seriousness.  The  baptism,  which 
took  place  on  the  5th-  of  February,  was  a great  event  in 
Weimar.  Herder  preached  “ like  a God,”  said  Wieland, 
whose  cantata  was  sung  on  the  occasion.  Processions  by 
torchlight,  festivities  of  all  kinds,  poems  from  every  poet, 
except  Goethe,  testified  the  people’s  joy.  There  is  something 
very  generous  in  this  silence.  It  could  not  be  attributed  to 
want  of  affection.  But  he  who  had  been  ever  ready  with 
ballet,  opera,  or  poem,  to  honor  the  birthday  of  the  two 
Duchesses,  must  have  felt  that  now,  when  all  the  other 
Weimar  writers  were  pouring  in  their  offerings,  he  ought  not 
to  throw  the  weight  of  his  position  in  the  scale  against  them. 
Had  his  poem  been  the  worst  of  the  offerings,  it  would  have 
been  prized  the  highest  because  it  was  his. 

The  Duke,  proud  in  his  paternity,  writes  to  Merck  : “You 
have  reason  to  rejoice  with  me ; for  if  there  be  any  good  dis- 
positions in  me  they  have  hitherto  wanted  a fixed  point,  but 
now  there  is  a firm  hook  upon  which  I can  hang  my  pictures. 


248 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE. 


[book  V. 


With  the  help  of  Goethe  and  good  luck  I will  so  paint  that 
if  possible  the  next  generation  shall  say,  He  too  was  a paint- 
er ! ” And  from  this  time  forward  there  seems  to  have  been 
a decisive  change  in  him ; though  he  does  complain  of  the 
“ taciturnity  of  his  Herr  Kammerprdsident ” (Goethe),  who 
is  only  to  be  drawn  out  by  the  present  of  an  engraving.  In 
truth  this  Kammerprdsident  is  very  much  oppressed  with  work, 
and  lives  in  great  seclusion,  happy  in  love,  active  in  study. 
The  official  duties,  which  formerly  he  undertook  so  gayly,  are 
obviously  becoming  burdens  to  him,  the-more-so  now  his 
mission  rises  into  greater  distinctness.  The  old  desire  for 
Italy  begins  to  torment  him.  “ The  happiest  thing  is,  that  I 
can  now  say  I am  on  the  right  path,  and  from  this  time  for- 
ward nothing  will  be  lost.” 

He  had  many  unpleasant  hours  as  Controller  of  the 
Finances,  striving  in  vain  to  make  the  Duke  keep  within  a 
prescribed  definite  sum  for  expenses,  — a thing  always  found 
next  to  impossible  with  Princes  (not  often  possible  with 
private  men) , and  by  no  means  accordant  with  our  Duke’s 
temperament.  “ Goethe  contrives  to  make  the  most  sensible 
representations,”  Wieland  writes  to  Merck,  “ and  is  indeed 
Vhonnete  homme  a la  cour ; but  suffers  terribly  in  body  and 
soul  from  the  burdens  which  for  our  good  he  has  taken  on 
himself.  It  sometimes  pains  me  to  the  heart  to  see  how 
good  a face  he  puts  on  while  sorrow  like  an  inward  worm  is 
silently  gnawing  him.  He  takes  care  of  his  health  as  well  as 
he  can,  and  indeed  he  has  need  of  it.”  Reports  of  this  seem 
to  have  reached  the  ears  of  his  mother,  and  thus  he  endeav- 
ors to  reassure  her:  “You  have  never  known  me  strong  in 
stomach  and  head ; and  that  one  must  be  serious  with 
serious  matters  is  in  the  nature  of  things,  especially  when  one 

is  thoughtful  and  desires  the  good  and  true I am,  after 

my  manner,  tolerably  well,  am  able  to  do  all  my  work,  to 


1783-1 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  ITALY. 


249 


enjoy  the  intercourse  of  good  friends,  and  still  find  time 
enough  for  all  my  favorite  pursuits.  I could  not  wish  my- 
self in  a better  place,  now  that  I know  the  world  and  know 
how  it  looks  behind  the  mountains.  And  you,  on  your  side, 
content  yourself  with  my  existence,  and  should  I quit  the 
world  before  you,  I have  not  lived  to  your  shame  ; I leave 
behind  me  a good  name  and  good  friends,  and  thus  you  will 
have  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  I am  not  entirely  dead. 
Meanwhile  live  in  peace ; fate  may  yet  give  us  a pleasant  old 
age,  which  we  will  also  live  through  gratefully.” 

It  is  impossible  not  to  read,  beneath  these  assurances,  a 
tone  of  sadness,  such  as  corresponds  with  Wieland’s  intima- 
tion. Indeed,  the  Duke,  anxious  about  his  health,  had 
urged  him  in  the  September  of  this  year  to  make  a little 
journey  in  the  Harz.  He  went,  accompanied  by  Fritz  von 
Stein,  the  eldest  son  of  his  beloved,  a boy  of  ten  years  of  age, 
whom  he  loved  and  treated  as  a son.  “ Infinite  was  the 
love  and  care  he  showed  me,”  said  Stein,  when  recording 
those  happy  days.  He  had  him  for  months  living  under  the 
same  roof,  taught  him,  played  with  him,  formed  him.  His 
native  delight  in  children  was  sharpened  by  his  love  for  this 
child’s  mother.  A pretty  episode  in  the  many-colored 
Weimar  life  is  this,  of  the  care-worn  minister  and  occupied 
student  snatching  some  of  the  joys  of  paternity  from  circum- 
stances which  had  denied  him  wife  and  children. 

The  Harz  journey  restored  his  health  and  spirits  : espe- 
cially agreeable  to  him  was  his  intercourse  with  Sommering, 
the  great  anatomist,  and  other  men  of  science.  He  returned 
to  Weimar  to  continue  Wilhelm  Meister , which  was  now  in  its 
fourth  book  ; to  continue  his  official  duties  ; to  see  more  and 
more  of  Herder,  then  writing  his  Ideen ; and  to  sun  himself 
in  the  smiles  of  his  beloved. 

His  osteological  studies  brought  him  this  year  the  discov- 

n* 


250 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


ery  of  an  intermaxillary  bone  in  man,  as  well  as  in  animals.* 
In  a future  chapter  t this  discovery  will  be  placed  in  its  his- 
torical and  anatomical  light ; what  we  have  at  present  to  do 
with  it,  is  to  recognize  its  biographical  significance.  Unti) 
this  discovery  was  made,  the  position  of  man  had  always 
been  separated  from  that  of  even  the  highest  animals,  by  the 
fact  (assumed)  that  he  had  no  intermaxillary  bone.  Goethe, 
who  everywhere  sought  unity  in  Nature,  believed  that  such  a 
difference  did  not  exist;  his  researches  proved  him  to  be 
right.  Herder  was  at  that  time  engaged  in  proving  that  no 
structural  difference  could  be  found  between  men  and  ani- 
mals ; and  Goethe,  in  sending  Knebel  his  discovery,  says 
that  it  will  support  this  view.  “ Indeed,  man  is  most  inti- 
mately allied  to  animals.  The  co-ordination  of  the  Whole 
makes  every  creature  to  be  that  which  it  is,  and  man  is  as 
much  man  through  the  form  of  his  upper  jaw,  as  through  the 

form  and  nature  of  the  last  joint  of  his  little  toe.  And  thus 

0 

is  every  creature  but  a note  of  the  great  harmony , which  must 
be  studied  in  the  Whole,  or  else  it  is  nothing  but  a dead  letter. 
From  this  point  of  view  I have  written  the  little  essay,  and 
that  is,  properly  speaking,  the  interest  which  lies  hidden 
in  it.” 

The  discovery  is  significant,  therefore,  as  an  indication  of 
his  tendency  to  regard  Nature  in  her  unity.  It  was  the  prel- 
ude to  his  discoveries  of  the  metamorphosis  of  plants,  and 
of  the  vertebral  theory  of  the  skull  : all  three  resting  on  the 
same  mode  of  conceiving  Nature.  His  botanical  studies  re- 

* He  thus  announces  it  to  Herder,  27th  March,  1784:  “I  hasten  to 
tell  you  of  the  fortune  that  has  befallen  me.  I have  found  neither  gold 
nor  silver,  but  that  which  gives  me  inexpressible  joy,  the  os  intermaxil- 
lare  in  Man ! I compared  the  skulls  of  men  and  beasts,  in  company 
with  Loder,  came  on  the  trace  of  it,  and  lo  ! there  it  is.”  — Aus  Herder's 
Nachlassy  I.  75. 

t See,  further  on,  the  chapter  on  The  Poet  as  a Man  of  Science. 


783-] 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  ITALY. 


251 


ceived  fresh  impulse  at  this  period.  The  work  of  Linnaeus 
was  a constant  companion  on  his  journeys,  and  we  see  him 
with  eagerness  availing  himself  of  all  that  the  observations 
and  collections  of  botanists  could  offer  him  in  aid  of  his  own. 
“ My  geological  speculations,”  he  writes  to  the  Frau  von 
Stein,  “make  progress.  I see  much  more  than  the  others 
who  accompany  me,  because  I have  discovered  certain  funda- 
mental laws  of  formation,  which  I keep  secret,  and  can  from 
them  better  observe  and  judge  the  phenomena  before  me. 

. . . . Every  one  exclaims  about  my  solitude,  which  is  a 
riddle,  because  no  one  knows  with  what  glorious  unseen 
beings  I hold  communion.”  It  is  interesting  to  observe  his 
delight  at  seeing  a zebra,  — which  was  a novelty  in  Germany, 
— and  his  inexhaustible  pleasure  in  the  elephant’s  skull, 
which  he  has  procured  for  study.  Men  confined  to  their 
libraries,  whose  thoughts  scarcely  venture  beyond  the  circle  of 
Literature,  have  spoken  with  sarcasm  and  with  pity  of  this 
waste  of  time.  But  — dead  bones  for  dead  bones  — there  is 
as  much  poetry  in  the  study  of  an  elephaht’s  skull,  as  in  the 
study  of  those  skeletons  of  the  past,  — History  and  Classics. 
All  depends  upon  the  mind  of  the  student ; to  one  man  a 
few  old  bones  will  awaken  thoughts  of  the  great  organic  pro- 
cesses of  Nature,  thoughts  as  far-reaching  and  sublime  as 
those  which  the  fragments  of  the  past  awaken  in  the  histori- 
cal mind.  But  there  are  minds,  and  these  form  the  majority, 
to  whom  dry  bones  are  dry  bones,  and  nothing  more.  “ How 
legible  the  book  of  Nature  becomes  to  me,”  Goethe  writes, 
“ I cannot  express  to  thee ; my  long  lessons  in  spelling  have 
helped  me,  and  now  my  quiet  joy  is  inexpressible.  Much  as 
I find  that  is  new,  I find  nothing  unexpected  ; everything  fits 
in,  because  I have  no  system,  and  desire  nothing  but  the 
pure  truth.”  To  help  him  in  his  spelling  he  begins  algebra  ; 
but  the  nature  of  his  talent  was  too  unmath ematical  for  him 
to  pursue  that  study  long. 


252 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE . [book  v. 


The  Duke  increased  his  salary  by  200  thalers,  and  this, 
with  the  1,800  thalers  received  from  the  paternal  property, 
made  his  income  now  3,200  thalers  (less  than  j£ 500 ).  He  had 
need  of  money,  both  for  his  purposes  and  his  numerous  char- 
ities. We  have  seen,  in  the  case  of  Kraft,  how  large  was  his 
generosity ; and  in  one  of  his  letters  to  his  beloved,  he  ex- 
claims, “ God  grant  that  I may  daily  become  more  economi- 
cal, that  I may  be  able  to  do  more  for  others.”  The  reader 
knows  this  is  not  a mere  phrase  thrown  in  the  air.  All  his 
letters  speak  of  the  suffering  he  endured  from  the  sight  of  so 
much  want  in  the  people.  “ The  world  is  narrow,”  he  writes, 
“ and  not  every  spot  of  earth  bears  every  tree ; mankind 
suffers,  and  one  is  ashamed  to  see  one's  self  so  favored  above  so 
many  thousands.  We  hear  constantly  how  poor  the  land  is, 
and  daily  becomes  poorer ; but  we  partly  think  this  is  not 
true,  and  partly  hurry  it  away  from  our  minds  when  once  we 
see  the  truth  with  open  eyes,  see  the  irremediableness,  and 
see  how  matters  are  always  bungled  and  botched ! ” That 
he  did  his  utmost  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  the  people 
in  general,  and  to  ameliorate  particular  sorrows  as  far  as  lay 
in  his  power,  is  strikingly  evident  in  the  concurrent  testimony 
of  all  who  knew  anything  of  his  doings.  If  he  did  not  write 
dithyrambs  of  Freedom,  and  was  not  profoundly  enthusiastic 
for  Fatherland,  let  us  attribute  it  to  any  cause  but  want  of 
heart. 

The  stillness  and  earnestness  of  his  life  seem  to  have  some- 
what toned  down  the  society  of  Weimar.  He  went  very  rarely 
to  Court ; and  he  not  being  there  to  animate  it  with  his  in- 
ventions, the  Duchess  Amalia  complained  that  they  were  all 
asleep ; the  Duke  also  found  society  insipid  : “ the  men  have 
lived  through  their  youth,  and  the  women  mostly  married.” 
The  Duke  altered  with  the  rest.  The  influence  of  his  de^r 
friend  was  daily  turning  him  into  more  resolute  paths ; it  had 


783-] 


PREPARATIONS  FOR  ITALY. 


253 


even  led  him  to  the  study  of  science,  as  we  learn  from  his 
letters.  And  Herder,  also,  now  occupied  with  his  great 
work,  shared  these  ideas,  and  enriched  himself  with  Goethe’s 
friendship. 

His  scientific  studies  became  enlarged  by  the  addition  of  a 
microscope,  with  which  he  followed  the  investigations  of 
Gleichen,  and  gained  some  insight  into  the  marvels  of  the 
world  of  Infusoria.  His  drawings  of  the  animalcules  seen  by 
him  were  sent  to  the  Frau  von  Stein ; and  to  Jacobi  he 
wrote  : “ Botany  and  the  microscope  are  now  the  chief  ene- 
mies I have  to  contend  against.  But  I live  in  perfect  soli- 
tude apart  from  all  the  world,  as  dumb  as  a fish.”  Amid 
these  multiform  studies,  — mineralogy,  osteology,  botany, 
and  constant  “ dipping  ” into  Spinoza, — his  poetic  studies 
might  seem  to  have  fallen  into  the  background,  did  we  not 
know  that  Wilhelm  Meister  has  reached  the  fifth  book,  the 
opera  of  Scherz  List  und  Rache  is  written,  the  great  religious- 
scientific  poem  Die  Geheimnisse  is  planned,  Elpenor  has  two 
acts  completed,  and  many  of  the  minor  poems  are  written. 
Among  these  poems,  be  it  noted,  are  the  two  songs  in 
Wilhelm  Meister,  Kennst  Du  das  Land  ? and  Nur  wer  die 
Sehnsucht  kenntt  which  speak  feelingly  of  his  longing  for 
Italy.  The  preparations  for  that  journey  are  made  in  silence. 
He  is  studying  Italian,  and  undertakes  the  revision  of  his 
works  for  a new  edition,  in  which  Wieland  and  Herder  are  to 
help  him. 

Seeing  him  thus  happy  in  love,  in  friendship,  in  work,  with 
young  Fritz  living  with  him,  to  give  him,  as  it  were,  a home, 
and  every  year  bringing  fresh  clearness  in  his  purposes,  one 
may  be  tempted  to  ask  what  was  the  strong  impulse  which 
could  make  him  break  away  from  such  a circle,  and  send  him 
lonely  over  the  Alps?  Nothing  but  the  impulse  of  genius. 
Italy  had  been  the  dream  of  his  youth.  It  was  the  land 


254 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


where  self-culture  was  to  gain  rich  material  and  firm  basis. 
That  he  was  born  to  be  a Poet,  he  now  deliberately  acknowl- 
edged ; and  nothing  but  solitude  in  the  Land  of  Song  seemed 
wanting  to  him.  Thither  he  yearned  to  go ; thither  he 
would  go. 

He  accompanied  the  Duke,  Herder,  and  the  Frau  von 
Stein  to  Carlsbad  in  July,  1786,  taking  with  him  his  works  to 
be  revised  for  Goschen’s  new  edition.  The  very  sight  of 
these  works  must  have  strengthened  his  resolution.  And 
when  Herder  and  the  Frau  von  Stein  returned  to  Weimar, 
leaving  him  alone  with  the  Duke,  the  final  preparations  were 
made.  He  had  studiously  concealed  this  project  from  every 
one  except  the  Duke,  whose  permission  was  necessary ; but 
even  from  him  the  project  was  partially  concealed.  “ For- 
give me,”  he  wrote  to  the  Duke,  “ if  at  parting  I spoke 
vaguely  about  my  journey  and  its  duration.  I do  not  yet 
know  myself  what  is  to  become  of  me.  You  are  happy  in  a 
chosen  path.  Your  affairs  are  in  good  order,  and  you  will 
excuse  me  if  I now  look  after  my  own ; nay,  you  have  often 
urged  me  to  do  so.  I am  at  this  moment  certainly  able  to 
be  spared ; things  are  so  arranged  as  to  go  on  smoothly  in 
my  absence.  * In  this  state  of  things  all  I ask  is  an  indefinite 
furlough.”  He  says  that  he  feels  it  necessary  for  his  intel- 
lectual health  that  he  should  “ lose  himself  in  a world  where 
he  is  unknown  ” ; and  begs  that  no  one  may  be  informed  of 
his  intended  absence.  “ God  bless  you,  is  my  hearty  wish, 
and  keep  me  your  affection.  Believe  me  that  if  I desire  to 
make  my  existence  more  complete,  it  is  that  I may  enjoy  it 
better  with  you  and  yours.” 

This  was  on  the  2d  September,  1786.  On  the  3d  he 
quitted  Carlsbad  incognito.  His  next  letter  to  the  Duke 
begins  thus  : “ One  more  friendly  word  out  of  the  distance, 
without  date  or  place.  Soon  will  I open  my  mouth  and  say 


i786.] 


ITAL  Y. 


255 


how  I get  on.  How  it  will  rejoice  me  once  more  to  see  your 
handwriting  1 ” And  it  ends  thus  : “ Of  course. you  let  people 
believe  that  you  know  where  I am.”  In  the  next  letter  he 
says,  “ I must  still  keep  the  secret  of  my  whereabouts  a little 
longer.” 


CHAPTER  III. 

ITALY. 

The  long  yearning  of  his  life  was  at  last  fulfilled  : he  was 
in  Italy.  Alone,  and  shrouded  by  an  assumed  name  from 
all  the  interruptions  with  which  the  curiosity  of  admirers 
would  have  perplexed  the  author  of  Werther , but  which  never 
troubled  the  supposed  merchant  Herr  Moller,  he  passed 
amid  orange-trees  and  vineyards,  cities,  statues,  pictures,  and 
buildings,  feeling  himself  “ at  home  in  the  wide  world,  no 
longer  an  exile.”  The  passionate  yearnings  of  Mignon  had 
grown  with  his  growth  and  strengthened  with  his  strength, 
through  the  early  associations  of  childhood,  and  all  the  am- 
bitions of  manhood,  till  at  last  they  made  him  sick  at  heart. 
For  some  time  previous  to  his  journey  he  had  been  unable 
to  look  at  engravings  of  Italian  scenery,  unable  even  to  open 
a Latin  book,  because  of  the  overpowering  suggestions  of 
the  language ; so  that  Herder  could  say  of  him  that  the  only 
Latin  author  ever  seen  in  his  hand  was  Spinoza.  The  feel- 
ing grew  and  grew,  a mental  home-sickness  which  nothing 
but  Italian  skies  could  cure.  We  have  only  to  read  Mignon’s 
song,  Kennsi  Du  das  Land  ? which  was  written  before  this 
journey,  to  perceive  how  dream-like  were  his  conceptions  of 
Italy,  and  how  restless  was  his  desire  to  journey  there. 

And  now  this  deep  unrest  was  stilled.  Italian  voices  were 


2 56 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


loud  around  him,  Italian  skies  were  above  him,  Italian  art 
was  before  him.  He  felt  this  journey  as  a new.  birth.  His 
whole  being  was  filled  with  warmth  and  light.  Life  stretched 
itself  before  him  calm,  radiant,  and  strong.  He  saw  the 
greatness  of  his  aims,  and  felt  within  him  powers  adequate 
to  those  aims. 

Curious  it  is  to  notice  his  open-eyed  interest  in  all  the 
geological  and  meteorological  phenomena  which  present 
themselves  ; an  interest  which  has  excited  the  sneers  of  some 
who  think  a poet  has  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  rhapsodize. 
They  tolerate  his  enthusiasm  for  Palladio,  because  Archi- 
tecture is  one  of  the  Arts ; and  forgive  the  enthusiasm  which 
seized  him  in  Vicenza,  and  made  him  study  Palladio’s  works 
as  if  he  were  about  to  train  himself  for  an  architect ; but 
they  are  distressed  to  find  him,  in  Padua,  once  more  occu- 
pied with  “ cabbages,”  and  tormented  with  the  vague  con- 
ception of  a Typical  Plant,  which  will  not  leave  him.  Let 
me  confess,  however,  that  some  cause  for  disappointment 
exists.  The  poet’s  yearning  is  fulfilled ; and  yet  how  little 
literary  enthusiasm  escapes  him  ! Italy  is  the  land  of  His- 
tory, Literature,  Painting,  and  Music ; its  highways  are 
sacred  with  associations  of  the  Past ; its  by-ways  are  cen- 
tres of  biographic  and  artistic  interest.  Yet  Goethe,  in 
raptures  with  the  climate,  and  the  beauties  of  Nature,  is 
almost  silent  about  Literature,  has  no  sense  of  Music,  and 
no  feeling  for  History.  He  passes  through  Verona  without 
a thought  of  Romeo  and  Juliet;  through  Ferrara  without  a 
word  of  Ariosto,  and  scarcely  a word  of  Tasso.  In  this 
land  of  the  Past,  it  is  the  Present  only  which  allures  him. 
He  turns  aside  in  disgust  from  the  pictures  of  crucifixions, 
martyrdoms,  emaciated  monks,  and  all  the  hospital  pathos 
which  makes  galleries  hideous  ; only  in  Raphael’s  healthier 
beauty,  and  more  human  conceptions,  can  he  take  delight' 


786.] 


ITALY. 


257 


He  has  no  historic  sense  enabling  him  to  qualify  his  hatred 
of  superstition  by  recognition  of  the  painful  religious  strug- 
gles which,  in  their  evolutions,  assumed  these  superstitious 
forms.  He  considers  the  pictures  as  things  of  the  present, 
and  because  their  motives  are  hideous  he  is  disgusted.  But 
a man  of  more  historic  feeling  would,  while  marking  his  dis- 
like of  such  conceptions,  have  known  how  to  place  them  in 
their  serial  position  in  the  historic  development  of  mankind. 

From  Venice  he  passed  rapidly  through  Ferrara,  Bologna, 
Florence,  Arezzo,  Perugia,  Foligno,  and  Spoleto,  reaching 
Rome  on  the  28th  October. 

In  Rome,  where  he  stayed  four  months,  enjoyment  and 
education  went  hand  in  hand.  “ All  the  dreams  of  my  youth 
I now  see  living  before  me.  Everywhere  I go  I find  an  old 
familiar  face ; everything  is  just  what  I thought  it,  and  yet 
everything  is  new.  It  is  the  same  with  ideas.  I have  gained 
no  new  idea,  but  the  old  ones  have  become  so  definite,  liv- 
ing, and  connected  one  with  another,  that  they  may  pass  as 
new.”  The  riches  of  Rome  are  at  first  bewildering ; a long 
residence  is  necessary  for  each  object  to  make  its  due  impres- 
sion. Goethe  lived  there  among  some  German  artists : An- 
gelica Kaufmann,  for  whom  he  had  great  regard,  Tischbein, 
Moritz,  and  others.  They  respected  his  incognito  as  well  as 
they  could,  although  the  fact  of  his  being  in  Rome  could  not 
long  be  entirely  concealed.  He  gained,  however,  the  main 
object  of  his  incognito,  and  avoided  being  lionized.  He  had 
not  come  to  Italy  to  have  his  vanity  tickled  by  the  approba- 
tion of  society ; he  came  for  self-culture,  and  resolutely  pur- 
sued his  purpose. 

Art  was  enough  to  occupy  him;  and  for  Painting  he  had  a 
passion  which  renders  his  want  of  talent  still  more  notice- 
able. Fie  visited  Churches  and  Galleries  with  steady  ear- 
nestness ; studied  Winckelmann,  and  discussed  critical  points 

Q 


258 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


with  the  German  artists.  Unhappily  he  also  wasted  precious 
time  in  fruitless  efforts  to  attain  facility  in  drawing.  These 
occupations,  however,  did  not  prevent  his  completing  the 
versification  of  Iphigenia,  which  he  read  to  the  German  circle, 
but  found  only  Angelica  who  appreciated  it ; the  others 
having  expected  something  genialisch , something  in  the  style 
of  Gotz  with  the  Iron  Hand.  Nor  was  he  much  more  fortu- 
nate with  the  Weimar  circle,  who,  as  we  have  already  seen, 
preferred  the  prose  version. 

Art  thus  with  many-sided  influence  allured  him,  but  did 
not  completely  fill  up  his  many-sided  activity.  Philosophic 
speculations  gave  new  and  wondrous  meanings  to  Nature; 
and  the  ever-pressing  desire  to  discover  the  secret  of  vegeta- 
ble forms  sent  him  meditative  through  the  gardens  about 
Rome.  He  felt  he  was  on  the  track  of  a law  which,  if  dis- 
covered, would  reduce  to  unity  the  manifold  variety  of  forms. 
Men  who  have  never  felt  the  passion  of  discovery  may  rail  at 
him  for  thus,  in  Rome,  forgetting,  among  plants,  the  quarrels 
of  the  Senate  and  the  eloquence  of  Cicero ; but  all  who  have 
been  haunted  by  a great  idea  will  sympathize  with  him,  and 
understand  how  insignificant  is  the  existence  of  a thousand 
Ciceros  in  comparison  with  a law  of  Nature. 

On  the  2 2d  of  February  Goethe  quitted  Rome  for  Naples, 
where  he  spent  five  weeks  of  hearty  enjoyment.  Throwing 
aside  his  incognito,  he  mixed  freely  with  society,  and  still 
more  freely  with  the  people,  whose  happy,  careless  far  nienk 
delighted  him. 

“ If  in  Rome  one  must  study  f he  writes,  “ here  in  Naples 
one  can  only  live.”  And  he  lived  a manifold  life : on  tbe 
sea-shore,  among  the  fishermen,  among  the  people,  among  ^ 
the  nobles,  under  Vesuvius,  on  the  moonlit  waters,  on  the 
causeway  of  Pompeii,  in  Pausilippo,  — everywhere  drinking 
in  fresh  delight,  everywhere  feeding  his  fancy  and  experience 


i786.] 


ITALY. 


259 


with  new  pictures.  Thrice  did  he  ascend  Vesuvius ; and  as 
we  shall  see  him  during  the  campaign  in  France  pursuing  his 
scientific  observations  undisturbed  by  the  cannon,  so  here 
also  we  observe  him  deterred  by  no  perils  from  making  the 
most  of  his  opportunity. 

Pompeii,  Herculaneum,  and  Capua  interested  him  less 
than  might  have  been  anticipated.  “ The  book  of  Nature,” 
he  says,  “ is  after  all  the  only  one  which  has  in  every  page 
important  meanings.”  Wandering  thus  lonely,  his  thoughts 
hurried  by  the  music  of  the  waves,  the  long-baffling,  long- 
soliciting  mystery  of  vegetable  forms  grew  into  clearness 
before  him,  and  the  typical  plant  was  no  more  a vanishing 
conception,  but  a principle  clearly  grasped. 

On  the  2d  of  April  he  reached  Palermo.  He  stayed  a fort- 
night among  its  orange-trees  and  oleanders,  given  up  to  the 
exquisite  sensations  which,  lotus-like,  lulled  him  into  forget- 
fulness of  everything,  save  the  present.  Homer  here  first 
became  a living  poet  to  him.  He  bought  a copy  of  the 
Odyssey,  read  it  with  unutterable  delight^.nd  translated  as  he 
went,  for  the  benefit  of  his  friend  Kniep.  Inspired  by  it,  he 
sketched  the  plan  of  the  Nausikaa , a drama  in  which  the 
Odyssey  was  to  be  concentrated.  Like  so  fnany  other  plans, 
this  was  never  completed.  The  garden  of  Alcinous  had  to 
yield  to  the  Metamorphoses  of  Plants , which  tyrannously 
usurped  his  thoughts. 

Palermo  was  the  native  city  of  Count  Cagliostro,  the 
audacious  adventurer  who,  three  years  before,  had  made  so 
conspicuous  a figure  in  the  affair  of  the  Diamond  Necklace. 
Goethe’s  curiosity  to  see  the  parents  of  this  reprobate  led 
him  to  visit  them,  under  the  guise  of  an  Englishman  bringing 
them  news  of  their  son.  He  has  narrated  the  adventure  at 
some  length ; but  as  nothing  of  biographical  interest  lies 
therein,  I pass  on  with  this  brief  indication,  a4ding  that  his 


26o 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


sympathy,  always  active,  was  excited  in  favor  of  the  poor 
people,  and  he  twice  sent  them  pecuniary  assistance,  confess- 
ing the  deceit  he  had  practised. 

He  returned  to  Naples  on  the  14th  of  May,  not  without  a 
narrow  escape  from  shipwreck.  He  had  taken  with  him  the 
two  first  acts  of  Tasso  (then  in  prose),  to  remodel  them  in 
verse.  He  found  on  reading  them  over,  that  they  were  soft 
and  vague  in  expression,  but  otherwise  needing  no  material 
alteration.  After  a fortnight  at  Naples  he  once  more  ar- 
rived in  Rome.  This  was  on  the  6th  of  June,  1787,  and  he 
remained  till  the  22d  of  April,  1788:  ten  months  of  labor, 
which  only  an  activity  so  unusual  as  his  own  could  have 
made  so  fruitful.  Much  of  his  time  was  wasted  in  the  dab- 
bling of  an  amateur,  striving  to  make  himself  what  Nature 
had  refused  to  make  him.  Yet  it  is  perhaps  perilous  to  say 
that  with  such  a mind  any  effort  was  fruitless.  If  he  did  not 
become  a painter  by  his  studies,  the  studies  were  doubtless 
useful  to  him  in  other  ways.  Art  and  antiquities  he  studied 
in  company  with  artistic  friends.  Rome  is  itself  an  educa- 
tion ; and  he  was  eager  to  learn.  Practice  of  the  art 
sharpened  his  perceptions.  He  learned  perspective,  drew 
from  the  model,  was  passionate  in  endeavors  to  succeed 
with  landscape,  and  even  began  to  model  a little  in  clay. 
Angelica  Kaufmann  told  him,  that  in  art  he  saw  better  than 
any  one  else  ; and  the  others  believed  perhaps  that  with 
study  he  would  be  able  to  do  more  than  see.  But  all  his 
study  and  all  his  practice  were  vain ; he  never  attained  even 
the  excellence  of  an  amateur.  To  think  of  a Goethe  thus 
obstinately  cultivating  a branch  of  art  for  which  he  had  no 
talent,  makes  us  look  with  kinder  appreciation  on  the  spec- 
tacle, so  frequently  presented,  of  really  able  men  obstinately 
devoting  themselves  to  produce  poetry  which  no  cultivated 
mind  can  read ; men  whose  culture  and  insight  are  insuffi- 


1788] 


ITALY. 


26l 

cient  to  make  them  perceive  in  themselves  the  difference 
between  aspiration  and  inspiration. 

If  some  time  was  wasted  upon  efforts  to  become  a painter, 
the  rest  was  well  employed.  Not  to  mention  his  scientific 
investigations,  there  was  abundance  of  work  executed. 
Egmont  was  rewritten.  The  rough  draft  of  the  first  two  acts 
had  been  written  at  Frankfurt,  in  the  year  1775  ; and  a 
rough  cast  of  the  whole  was  made  at  Weimar,  in  1782.  He 
now  took  it  up  again,  because  the  outbreak  of  troubles  in  the 
Netherlands  once  more  brought  the  patriots  into  collision 
with  the  house  of  Orange.  The  task  of  rewriting  was  labo- 
rious, but  very  agreeable,  and  he  looked  with  pride  on  the 
completed  drama,  hoping  it  would  gratify  his  friends.  These 
hopes  were  somewhat  dashed  by  Herder,  who  — never  much 
given  to  praise  — would  not  accept  Clarchen,  a character 
which  the  poet  thought,  and  truly  thought,  he  had  felicitously 
drawn.  Besides  Egmont , he  prepared  for  the  new  edi- 
tion of  his  works,  new  versions  of  Claudine  von  Villa  Bella 
and  Erwin  unt  ElmBe , two  comic  operas.  Some  scenes  of 
Faust  were  written  ; also  these  poems : Amor  als  Landschafts- 
maler;  Amor  als  Gast ; Kiinstler' s Erdenwallen  ; and  K Hust- 
ler's Apotheose . He  thus  completed  the  last  four  volumes  of 
his  collected  works  which  Goschen  had  undertaken  to 
publish,  and  which  we  have  seen  him  take  to  Carlsbad  and 
to  Italy  as  his  literary  task. 

The  effect  of  his  residence  in  Italy,  especially  in  Rome, 
was  manifold  and  deep.  Foreign  travel,  even  to  unintelli- 
gent, uninquiring  minds,  is  always  of  great  influence,  not 
merely  b^  the  presentation  of  new  objects,  but  also,  and 
mainly,  by  the  withdrawal  of  the  mind  from  all  the  intricate 
connections  of  habit  and  familiarity  which  mask  the  real  rela- 
tions of  life.  This  withdrawal  is  important,  because  it  gives 
a new  standing-point  from  which  we  can  judge  ourselves  and 


262 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


others,  and  it  shows  how  much  that  we  have  been  wont  to 
regard  as  essential  is,  in  reality,  little  more  than  routine. 
Goethe  certainly  acquired  clearer  views  with  respect  to  him- 
self and  his  career  : severed  from  all  those  links  of  habit  and 
routine  which  had  bound  him  in  Weimar,  he  learned  in  Italy 
to  take  another  and  a wider  survey  of  his  position.  He  re- 
turned home,’ to  all  appearance,  a changed  man.  The  crys- 
tallizing process  which  commenced  in  Weimar  was  completed 
in  Rome.  As  a decisive  example,  we  note  that  he  there 
finally  relinquishes  his  attempt  to  become  a painter.  He 
feels  that  he  is  born  only  for  poetry,  and  during  the  next  ten 
years  resolves  to  devote  himself  to  literature. 

On  the  2 2d  April,  1788,  he  turned  homewards,  quitting 
Rome  with  unspeakable  regret,  yet  feeling  himself  equipped 
anew  for  the  struggle  of  life.  “ The  chief  objects  of  my  jour- 
ney,” he  writes  to  the  Duke,  “ were  these  : to  free  myself 
from  the  physical  and  moral  uneasiness  which  rendered  me 
almost  useless,  and  to  still  the  feverish  thirst  I felt  for  true 
art.  The  first  of  these  is  tolerably,  the  second  quite 
achieved.”  Taking  Tasso  with  him  to  finish  on  his  journey, 
he  returned  through  Florence,  Milan,  Chiavenna,  Lake  Con- 
stance, Stuttgard,  and  Niirnberg,  reaching  Weimar  on  the 
1 8th  June,  at  ten  o’clock  in  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RETURN  HOME. 

Goethe  came  baclt  from  Italy  greatly  enriched,  but  by  no 
means  satisfied.  The  very  wealth  he  had  accumulated  em- 
barrassed him,  by  the  new  problems  it  presented,  and  the 


788.] 


RETURN  HOME . 


263 


new  horizons  it  revealed.  He  had  in  Rome  become  aware 
that  a whole  life  of  study  would  scarcely  suffice  to  still  the 
craving  hunger  for  knowledge  ; and  he  left  Italy  with  deep 
regret.  The  return  home  was  thus,  in  itself,  a grief ; the 
arrival  was  still  more  painful.  Every  one  will  understand 
this,  who  has  lived  for  many  months  away  from  the  circle  of 
old  habits  and  old  acquaintances,  feeling  in  the  new  world 
a larger  existence  more  consonant  with  his  nature  and  his 
aims,  and  has  then  returned  once  more  to  the  old  circle,  to 
find  it  unchanged,  — pursuing  its  old  paths,  moved  by  the 
old  impulses,  guided  by  the  old  lights,  — so  that  he  feels 
himself  a stranger.  To  return  to  a great  capital,  after  such 
an  absence,  is  to  feel  ill  at  ease ; but  to  return  from  Italy  to 
Weimar!  If  we,  on  entering  London,  after  a residence 
abroad,  find  the  same  interests  occupying  our  friends  which 
occupied  them  when  we  lef^  the  same  family  gossip,  the 
same  books  talked  about,  the  same  placards  loud  upon  the 
walls  of  the  unchanging  streets,  the  world  seeming  to  have 
stood  still  while  we  have  lived  through  so  much  : what  must 
Goethe  have  felt  coming  from  Italy,  with  his  soul  filled  with 
new  experience  and  new  ideas,  on  observing  the  quiet,  un- 
changed Weimar?  No  one  seemed  to  understand  him;  no 
one  sympathized  in  his  enthusiasm,  or  in  his  regrets.  They 
found  him  changed.  He  found  them  moving  in  the  same 
dull  round,  like  blind  horses  in  a mill. 

First,  let  us  note  that  he  came  back  resolved  to  dedicate 
his  life  to  Art  and  Science,  and  no  more  to  waste  efforts  in 
the  laborious  duties  of  office. 

'X  The  wise  Duke  released  his  friend  from  the  Presidency  of 
the  Chamber,  and  from  the  direction  of  the  War  Department, 
but  kept  a distinct  place  for  him  in  the  Council,  “ whenever 
his  other  affairs  allowed  him  to  attend.”  The  poet  remained 
the  adviser  of  his  Prince,  but  was  relieved  from  the  more 


264 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


onerous  duties  of  office.  The  direction  of  the  Mines,  and  of 
all  Scientific  and  Artistic  Institutions,  he  retained ; among 
them  that  of  the  Theatre. 

It  was  generally  found  that  he  had  grown  colder  in  his 
manners  since  his  Italian  journey.  Indeed,  the  process  of 
crystallization  had  rapidly  advanced  ; and  beyond  this  effect 
of  development,  which  would  have  taken  place  had  he  never 
left  Weimar,  there  was  the  further  addition  of  his  feeling 
himself  at  a different  standing-point  from  those  around  him. 
The  less  they  understood  him,  the  more  he  drew  within  him- 
self. Those  who  understood  him,  Moritz,  Meyer,  the  Duke, 
and  Herder,  found  no  cause  of  complaint. 

During  the  first  few  weeks  he  was  of  course  constantly  at 
Court.  His  official  release  made  the  bond  of  friendship 
stronger.  Besides,  every  one  was  naturally  anxious  to  hear 
about  his  travels,  and  he  was  delighted  to  talk  of  them. 

But  if  Weimar  complained  of  the  change,  to  which  it  soon 
grew  accustomed,  there  was  one  who  had  deeper  cause  of 
complaint,  and  whose  nature  was  not  strong  enough  to  bear 
it,  — the  Frau  von  Stein.  Absence  had  cooled  the  ardor  of 
his  passion.  In  Rome,  to  the  negative  influence  of  absence 
was  added  the  positive  influence  of  a new  love.  He  had  re- 
turned to  Weimar,  still  grateful  to  her  for  the  happiness  she 
had  given  him,  still  feeling  for  her  the  affection  which  no 
conduct  of  hers  could  destroy,  and  which  warmed  his  heart 
towards  her  to  the  last ; but  he  returned  also  with  little  of 
the  passion  she  had  for  ten  years  inspired  ; he  returned  with 
a full  conviction  that  he  had  outlived  it.  Nor  did  her  pres- 
ence serve  to  rekindle  the  smouldering  embers.  Charlotte 
von  Stein  was  now  five-and-forty.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  how 
much  he  must  have  been  struck  with  the  change  in  her. 
Had  he  never  left  her  side,  this  change  would  have  ap- 
proached with  gradual  steps,  stealthily  escaping  observation  ; 


i788.] 


RETURN  HOME. 


26  5 


but  the  many  months*  absence  removed  a veil  from  his  eyes. 
She  was  five-and-forty  to  him  as  to  others.  In  this  perilous 
position  she  adopted  the  very  worst  course.  She  found  him 
changed,  and  told  him  so,  in  a way  which  made  him  feel 
more  sharply  the  change  in  her.  She  thought  him  cold,  and 
her  resource  was  — reproaches.  The  resource  was  more 
feminine  than  felicitous.  Instead  of  sympathizing  with  him 
in  his  sorrow  at  leaving  Italy,  she  felt  the  regret  as  an  of- 
fence ; and  perhaps  it  was  ; but  a truer,  nobler  nature  would 
surely  have  known  how  to  merge  its  own  pain  in  sympathy 
with  the  pain  of  one  beloved.  He  regretted  Italy ; she  was 
not  a compensation  to  him  ; she  saw  this,  and  her  self-love 
suffered.  The  coquette  who  had  so  long  held  him  captive, 
now  saw  the  captive  freed  from  her  chains.  It  was  a trying 
moment.  But  even  in  the  worst  aspect  of  the  position,  there 
was  that  which  a worthy  nature  would  have  regarded  as  no 
small  consolation  : she  might  still  be  his  dearest  friend ; and 
the  friendship  of  such  a man  was  worth  more  than  the  love  of 
another.  But  this  was  not  to  be. 

Before  the  final  rupture  he  went  with  her  to  Rudolstadt, 
and  there  for  the  first  time  spoke  with  Schiller,  who  thus 
writes  to  Korner,  12th  September,  1788  : “ At  last  I can  tell 
you  about  Goethe,  and  satisfy  your  curiosity.  The  first  sight 
of  him  was  by  no  means  what  I had  been  led  to  expect.  He 
is  of  middle  stature,  holds  himself  stiffly,  and  walks  stiffly; 
his  countenance  is  not  open,  but  his  eye  very  full  of  expres- 
sion, lively,  and  one  hangs  with  delight  on  his  glances.  With 
much  seriousness,  his  mien  has  nevertheless  much  goodness 
and  benevolence.  He  is  brown-complexioned,  and  seemed 
to  me  older  in  appearance  than  his  years.  His  voice  is  very 
agreeable,  his  narrations  are  flowing,  animated,  and  full  of 
spirit;  one  listens  with  pleasure;  and  when  he  is  in  good- 
humor,  as  was  the  case  this  time,  he  talks  willingly  and 
12 


266 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


with  great  interest.  We  soon  made  acquaintance,  and  with- 
out the  slightest  effort ; the  circle,  indeed,  was  too  large,  and 
every  one  too  jealous  of  him,  for  me  to  speak  much  with  him' 

alone,  or  on  any  but  general  topics On  the  whole,  I 

must  say  that  my  great  idea  of  him  is  not  lessened  by  this 
personal  acquaintance  ; but  I doubt  whether  we  shall  ever 
become  intimate.  Much  that  to  me  is  now  of  great  interest, 
he  has  already  lived  through  ; he  is,  less  in  years  than  in 
experience  and  self-culture,  so  far  beyond  me  that  we  can 
never  meet  on  the  way ; and  his  whole  being  is  originally 
different  from  mine,  his  world  is  not  my  world,  our  concep- 
tions are  radically  different.  Time  will  show.” 

Could  he  have  looked  into  Goethe’s  soul  he  would  have 
seen  there  was  a wider  gulf  between  them  than  he  imagined. 
In  scarcely  any  other  instance  was  so  great  a friendship  ever 
formed  between  men  who  at  first  seemed  more  opposed  to 
each  other.  At  this  moment  Goethe  was  peculiarly  ill-dis- 
posed towards  any  friendship  with  Schiller,  for  he  saw  in  him 
the  powerful  writer  who  had  corrupted  and  misled  the  nation. 
He  has  told  us  how  pained  he  was  on  his  return  from  Italy 
to  find  Germany  jubilant  over  Heinse’s  Ardinghello , and 
Schiller’s  Robbers  and  Fiesco.  He  had  pushed  far  from  him, 
and  forever,  the  whole  Sturm  und  Drang  creed  ; he  had  out- 
grown that  tendency,  and  learned  to  hate  his  own  works  which 
sprang  from  it ; in  Italy  he  had  taken  a new  direction,  hop- 
ing to  make  the  nation  follow  him  in  this  higher  region,  as  it 
had  followed  him  before.  But  while  he  advanced,  the  nation 
stood  still ; he  “ passed  it  like  a ship  at  sea.”  Instead  of  fol- 
lowing him,  the  public  followed  his  most  extravagant  imita- 
tors. He  hoped  to  enchant  men  with  the  calm  ideal  beauty 
of  an  Iphigenia , and  the  sunny  heroism  of  an  Egmont ; and 
found  every  one  enraptured  with  Ardinghello  and  Karl  Moor. 
In  this  frame  of  mind  it  is  natural  that  he  should  keep  aloof 


i788.] 


RETURN  NOME. 


267 


from  Schiller,  and  withstand  the  various  efforts  made  to  bring 
about  an  intirftacy.  “ To  be  much  with  Goethe,”  Schiller 
writes  in  the  February  following,  “would  make  me  unhappy : 
with  his  nearest  friends  he  has  no  moments  of  overflowing- 
ness : I believe,  indeed,  he  is  an  egoist,  in  an  unusual  de- 
gree. He  has  the  talent  of  conquering  men,  and  of  binding 
them  by  small  as  well  as  great  attentions  : but  he  always 
knows  how  to  hold  himself  free.  He  makes  his  existence  be- 
nevolently felt,  but  only  like  a god,  without  giving  himself  : 
this  seems  to  me  a consequent  and  well-planned  conduct, 
which  is  calculated  to  insure  the  highest  enjoyment  of  self- 

love Thereby  is  he  hateful  to  me,  although  I love  his 

genius  from  my  heart,  and  think  greatly  of  him It  is 

quite  a peculiar  mixture  of  love  and  hatred  he  has  awakened 
in  me,  a feeling  akin  to  that  which  Brutus  and  Cassius  must 
have  had  for  Caesar.  I could  kill  his  spirit,  and  then  love 
him  again  from  my  heart.”  These  sentences  read  very 
strangely  now.  we  know  how  Schiller  came  to  love  and  rever- 
ence the  man  whom  he  here  so  profoundly  misunderstands, 
and  whom  he  judges  thus  from  the  surface.  But  they  are  in- 
teresting sentences  in  many  respects ; in  none  more  so  than 
in  showing  that  if  he,  on  nearer  acquaintance,  came  to  love 
the  noble  nature  of  his  great  rival,  it  is  a proof  that  he  had 
seen  how  superficial  had  been  his  first  judgment.  Let  the 
reader  who  has  been  led  to  think  harshly  of  Goethe,  from  one 
cause  or  another,  take  this  into  consideration,  and  ask  him- 
self whether  he  too,  on  better  knowledge,  might  not  alter  his 
opinion. 

“With  Goethe,”  so  runs  another  letter,  “ I will  not  compare 
myself,  when  he  puts  forth  his  whole  strength.  He  has  far  more 
genius  than  I have,  and  greater  wealth  of  knowledge,  a more 
accurate  sensuous  perception  (erne  sichere  Sinnlichkeit ),  and 
to  all  these  he  adds  an  artistic  taste,  cultivated  and  sharpened 


268 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


by  knowledge  of  all  works  of  Art.”  But  with  this  acknowledg- 
ment of  superiority  there  was  coupled  an  unpleasant  feeling 
of  envy  at  Goethe’s  happier  lot,  a feeling  which  his  own  un- 
happy  position  renders  very  explicable.  “ I will  let  you  see 
into  my  heart,”  he  writes  to  Korner.  “ Once  for  all ' this  7?ian , 
this  Goethe , stands  in  my  way , and  recalls  to  me  so  often  that 
fate  has  dealt  hardly  with  me.  How  lightly  is  his  genius 
borne  by  his  fate ; and  how  must  I even  to  this  moment 
struggle ! ” 

Fate  had  indeed  treated  them  very  differently.  Through- 
out Schiller’s  correspondence  we  are  pained  by  the  sight  of 
sordid  cares,  and  anxious  struggles  for  existence.  He  is  in 
bad  health,  in  difficult  circumstances.  We  see  him  forced  to 
make  literature  a trade ; and  it  is  a bad  one.  We  see  him 
anxious  to  do  hack-work,  and  translations,  for  a few  dollars, 
quite  cheered  by  the  prospect  of  getting  such  work;  nay,  glad 
to  farm  it  out  to  other  writers,  who  will  do  it  for  less  than  he 
receives.  We  see  him  animated  with  high  aspirations,  and 
depressed  by  cares.  He  too  is  struggling  through  the  rebel- 
lious epoch  of  youth,  but  has  not  yet  attained  the  clearness 
of  manhood ; and  no  external  aids  come  to  help  him  through 
the  struggle.  Goethe,  on  the  contrary,  never  knew  such 
cares.  All  his  life  he  had  been  shielded  from  the  depressing 
influence  of  poverty  ; and  now  he  has  leisure,  affluence,  re- 
nown, social  position,  — little  from  without  to  make  him  un- 
happy. When  Schiller  therefore  thought  of  all  this,  he  must 
'have  felt  that  fate  had  been  a niggard  step-mother  to  him,  as 
she  had  been  a lavish  mother  to  his  rival. 

Yet  Goethe  had  his  sorrows,  too,  though  not  of  the  same 
kind.  He  bore  within  him  the  flame  of  genius,  a flame  which 
consumes  while  it  irradiates.  His  struggles  were  with  him- 
self, and  not  with  circumstances.  He  felt  himself  a stranger 
in  the  land.  Few  understood  his  language  ; none  understood 
his  aims.  He  withdrew  into  himself. 


CHRISTIANA  VULPIUS. 


269 


*78s| 

There  is  one  point  which  must  be  noticed  in  this  position 
of  the  two  poets,  namely,  that  however  great  Schiller  may  be 
now  esteemed,  and  was  esteemed  by  Goethe  after  a while,  he 
was  not  at  this  moment  regarded  with  anything  beyond  the 
feeling  usually  felt  for  a rising  young  author.  His  early  works 
had  indeed  a wide  popularity ; but  so  had  the  works  of  Klin- 
ger, Maler  Muller,  Lenz,  Kotzebue,  and  others,  who  never 
conquered  the  great  critics ; and  Schiller  was  so  unrecognized 
at  this  time  that,  on  coming  to  Weimar,  he  complains,  with 
surprise  as  much  as  with  offended  self-love,  that  Herder 
seemed  to  know  nothing  of  him  beyond  his  name,  not  having 
apparently  read  one  of  his  works.  And  Goethe,  in  the  offi- 
cial paper  which  he  drew  up  recommending  Schiller  to  the 
Jena  professorship,  speaks  of  him  as  “a  Herr  Friedrich  Schil- 
ler, author  of  an  historical  work  on  the  Netherlands.”  So 
that  not  only  was  Schiller’s  tendency  antipathetic  to  all 
Goethe  then  prized,  he  was  not  even  in  that  position  which 
commands  the  respect  of  antagonists;  and  Goethe  considered 
Art  too  profoundly  important  in  the  development  of  mankind, 
for  differences  of  tendency  to  be  overlooked  as  unimportant* 


CHAPTER  V. 

CHRISTIANE  VULPIUS.  • 

One  day  early  in  July,  1788,  Goethe,  walking  in  the  much- 
loved park,  was  accosted  by  a fresh,  young,  bright-looking 
girl,  who,  with  many  reverences,  handed  him  a petition. 
He  looked  into  the  bright  eyes  of  the  petitioner,  and  then,  in 
a conciliated  mood,  looked  at  the  petition,  which  entreated 
the  great  poet  to  exert  his  influence  to  procure  a post  for  a 


270 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE. 


[book  v. 


young  author,  then  living  at  Jena  by  the  translation  of 
French  and  Italian  stories.  This  young  author  was  Vul- 
pius,  whose  Rinaldo  Rmaldini  has  doubtless  made  some  of 
my  readers  shudder  in  their  youth.  His  robber  romances 
were  at  one  time  very  popular ; but  his  name  is  now  only 
rescued  from  oblivion,  because  he  was  the  brother  of  that 
Christiane  who  handed  the  petition  to  Goethe,  and  who  thus 
took  the  first  step  on  the  path  which  led  to  their  marriage. 
Christiane  is  on  many  accounts  an  interesting  figure  to  those 
who  are  interested  in  the  biography  of  Goethe  ; and  the  love 
she  excited,  no  less  than  the  devotedness  with  which  for 
eight-and-twenty  years  she  served  him,  deserve  a more  ten- 
der memory  than  has  befallen  her. 

Her  father  was  one  of  those  wretched  beings  whose  drunk- 
enness slowly  but  surely  brings  a whole  family  to  want. 
He  would  sometimes  sell  the  coat  off  his  back  for  drink. 
When  his  children  grew  up,  they  contrived  to  get  away  from 
him,  and  to  support  themselves  : the  son  by  literature,  the 
daughters  by  making  artificial  flowers,*  woollen  work,  etc. 
It  is  usually  said  that  Christiane  was  utterly  uneducated,  and 
the  epigrammatic  pen  glibly  records  that  “ Goethe  married 
his  servant.”  She  never  was  his  servant.  Nor  was  she 
uneducated.  Her  social  position  indeed  was  very  humble, 
as  the  foregoing  indications  suggest;  but  that  she  was  not 
uneducated  is  plainly  seen  in  the  facts  of  which  there  can  be 
no  doubt,  namely,  that  for  her  were  written  the  Roman 
Elegies , and  the  Metamorphoses  of  Plants ; and  that  in  her 
company  Goethe  pursued  his  optical  and  botanical  re- 
searches. How  much  she  understood  of  these  researches  we 
cannot  know ; but  it  is  certain  that  unless  she  had  shown  a 
lively  comprehension  he  would  never  have  persisted  in  talk- 

* This  detail  will  give  the  reader  a clew  to  the  poem  Der  ncue 
Pausias. 


:788.] 


CHRISTIANE  VULPIUS. 


271 


ing  of  them  to  her.  Their  time,  he  says,  was  not  spent  only 
in  caresses,  but  also  in  rational  talk  : — 

“ Wird  doch  nicht  immer  gekiisst,  es  wird  verniinftig  gesprochen.” 

This  is  decisive.  Throughout  his  varied  correspondence  we 
always  see  him  presenting  different  subjects  to  different 
minds,  treating  of  topics  in  which  his  correspondents  are 
interested,  not  dragging  forward  topics  which  merely  interest 
him;  and  among  the  wide  range  of  subjects  he  had  mastered, 
there  were  many  upon  which  he  might  have  conversed  with 
Christiane,  in  preference  to  science,  had  she  shown  any  want 
of  comprehension  of  scientific  phenomena.  There  is  one  of 
the  Elegies,  the  eighth,  which  in  six  lines  , gives  us  a distinct 
idea  of  the  sort  of  cleverness  and  the  sort  of  beauty  which 
she  possessed  ; a cleverness  not  of  the  kind  recognized  by 
schoolmasters,  because  it  does  not  display  itself  in  aptitude 
for  book-learning ; a beauty  not  of  the  kind  recognized  by 
conventional  taste,  because  it  wants  the  conventional  regu- 
larity of  feature.*  Surely  the  poet’s  word  is  to  be  taken  in 
such  a case  ! 

While,  however,  rectifying  a general  error,  let  me  not  fall 
into  the  opposite  extreme.  Christiane  had  her  charm ; but 
she  was  not  a highly  gifted  woman.  She  was  not  a Frau 
von  Stein,  capable  of  being  the  companion  and  the  sharer  of 
his  highest  aspirations.  Quick  mother-wit,  a lively  spirit,  a 
loving  heart,  and  great  aptitude  for  domestic  duties,  she 
undoubtedly  possessed  : she  was  gay,  enjoying,  fond  of  pleas- 
ure even  to  excess,  and  — as  may  be  read  in  the  poems 
which  she  inspired  — was  less  the  mistress  of  his  Mind  than 

* “ When  you  tell  me,  dearest,  that  as  a child  you  were  not  admired, 
and  even  your  mother  scorned  you,  till  you  grew  up  and  silently  devel- 
oped yourself,  I can  quite  believe  it.  I can  readily  imagine  you  as  a 
peculiar  child.  If  the  blossoms  of  the  vine  are  wanting  in  color  and 
form,  the  grapes  once  ripe  are  the  delight  of  gods  and  men.” 


272 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


of  his  Affections.  Her  golden-brown  locks,  laughing  eyes, 
ruddy  cheeks,  kiss-provoking  lips,  small  and  gracefully  rounded 
figure,  gave  her  “ the  appearance  of  a young  Dionysos.”  * 
Her  naivete , gayety,  and  enjoying  temperament  completely 
fascinated  Goethe,  who  recognized  in  her  one  of  those  free, 
healthy  specimens  of  Nature  which  education  had  not  dis- 
torted with  artifice.  She  was  like  a child  of  the  sensuous 
Italy  he  had  just  quitted  with  so  much  regret ; and  there  are 
few  poems  in  any  language  which  approach  the  passionate 
gratitude  of  those  in  which  he  recalls  the  happiness  she  gave 
him. 

Why  did  he  not  marry  her  at  once  ? His  dread  of  mar- 
riage has  already  been  shown ; and  to  this  abstract  dread 
there  must  be  added  the  great  disparity  of  station,  — a dis- 
parity so  great  that  not  only  did  it  make  the  liaison 
scandalous,  it  made  Christiane  herself  reject  the  offer  of 
marriage.  Stahr  reports  that  persons  now  living  have  heard 
her  declare  that  it  was  her  own  fault  her  marriage  was  so 
long  delayed ; and  certain  it  is  that  when  — Christmas, 
1789  — she  bore  him  a child  (August  von  Goethe,  to  whom 
the  Duke  stood  godfather),  he  took  her  with  her  mother  and 
sister  to  live  in  his  house,  and  always  regarded  the  connec- 
tion as  a marriage.  But  however  he  may  have  regarded  it, 
Public  Opinion  has  not  forgiven  this  defiance  of  social  laws. 
The  world  blamed  him  loudly  ; even  his  admirers  cannot 
think  of  the  connection  without  pain.  “The  Nation,”  says 
Schafer,  “ has  never  forgiven  its  greatest  poet  for  this  rupture 
with  Law  and  Custom ; nothing  has  stood  so  much  in  the 
way  of  a right  appreciation  of  his  moral  character,  nothing 
has  created  more  false  judgments  on  the  tendency  of  his 
writings,  than  his  half-marriage.” 

But  let  us  be  just.  While  no  one  can  refrain  from  deplor- 

* So  says  Madame  Schopenhauer,  not  a prejudiced  witness. 


i788.] 


CHRIS TI A NE  VULPIUS. 


273 


ing  that  Goethe,  so  eminently  needing  a pure  domestic  life, 
should  not  have  found  a wife  whom  he  could  avow,  — one 
who  would  in  all  senses  have  been  a wife  to  him,  the  mistress 
of  his  house,  the  companion  of  his  life ; on  the  other  hand, 
no  one  who  knows  the  whole  circumstances  can  refrain  from 
confessing  that  there  was  also  a bright  side  to  this  dark 
episode.  Having  indicated  the  dark  side,  and  especially  its 
social  effect,  we  have  to  consider  what  happiness  it  brought 
him  at  a time  when  he  was  most  lonely,  most  unhappy.  It 
gave  him  the  joys  of  paternity,  for  which  his  heart  yearned. 
It  gave  him  a faithful  and  devoted  affection.  It  gave  him 
one  to  look  after  his  domestic  existence,  and  it  gave  him  a 
peace  in  that  existence  which  hitherto  he  had  sought  in  vain. 

There  is  a letter  still  extant  (unpublished)  written  ten 
years  after  their  first  acquaintance,  in  which,  like  a passionate 
lover,  he  regrets  not  having  taken  something  of  hers  on  his 
journey,  — even  her  slipper,  — that  he  might  feel  less  lonely. 
To  have  excited  such  love,  Christiane  must  have  been  a very 
different  woman  from  that  which  it  is  the  fashion  in  Germany 
to  describe  her  as  being.  In  conclusion,  let  it  be  added  that 
his  mother  not  only  expressed  herself  perfectly  satisfied  with 
his  choice,  received  Christiane  as  a daughter,  and  wrote 
affectionately  to  her,  but  refused  to  listen  to  the  officious 
meddlers  who  tried  to  convince  her  of  the  scandal  which  the 
connection  occasioned. 

Had  Goethe  written  nothing  but  the  Roman  Elegies , he 
would  hold  a first  place  among  German  poets.  These  elegies 
are,  moreover,  scarcely  less  interesting  in  their  biographical 
significance.  They  speak  plainly  of  the  effect  of  Italy  upon 
his  mind  \ they  speak  eloquently  of  his  love  for  Christiane. 
There  are  other  tributes  to  her  charms,  and  to  the  happiness 
she  gave  him  ; but  were  there  no  other  tributes,  these  would 
suffice  to  show  the  injustice  of  the  opinion  which  the  malicious 
12* 


R 


274 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. . 


tongues  of  Weimar  have  thrown  into  currency  respecting 
her,  — opinions,  indeed,  which  received  some  countenance 
from  her  subsequent  life,  when  she  had  lost  youth  and  beauty, 
and  when  the  faults  of  her  nature  had  acquired  painful 
prominence.  It  is  Goethe’s  misfortune  with  posterity  that  he 
is  mostly  present  to  our  minds  as  the  calm  old  man,  seldom 
as  the  glorious  youth.  The  majority  of  busts,  portraits,  and 
biographic  details  are  of  the  late  period  of  his  career.  In 
like  manner,  it  is  the  misfortune  of  his  wife  that  testimonies 
about  her  come  mostly  from  those  who  only  saw  her  when 
the  grace  and  charm  of  youth  had  given  place  to  a coarse 
and  corpulent  age.  But  the  biographer’s  task  is  to  ascertain 
by  diligent  inquiry  what  is  the  truth  at  the  various  epochs  of 
a career,  not  limiting  himself  to  one  epoch ; and  as  I have 
taken  great  pains  to  represent  the  young  Goethe,  so  also 
have  I tried  to  rescue  the  young  Christiane  from  the  falsifica- 
tions of  gossip,  and  the  misrepresentations  derived  from 
judging  her  youth  by  her  old  age. 

It  has  already  been  intimated  that  Weimar  was  loud  in  dis- 
approbation of  this  new  liaison , although  it  had  uttered  no 
word  against  the  liaison  with  the  Frau  von  Stein.  The  great 
offence  seems  to  have  been  his  choosing  one  beneath  him  in 
rank.  A chorus  of  indignation  rose.  It  produced  the  final 
rupture  between  him  and  the  Frau  von  Stein. 

He  offered  friendship  in  vain  ; he  had  wounded  the  self- 
love  of  a vain  woman ; there  is  a relentless  venom  when  the 
self-love  is  wounded,  which  poisons  friendship  and  destroys 
all  gratitude.  It  was  not  enough  for  the  Frau  von  Stein  that 
he  had  loved  her  so  many  years  with  a rare  devotion ; it  was 
not  enough  that  he  had  been  more  to  her  child  than  its  own 
father  was  ; it  was  not  enough  that  now  the  inevitable  change 
had  come,  he  still  felt  tenderness  and  affection  for  her,  grate- 
ful for  what  she  had  been  to  him ; the  one  fact,  that  he  had 


783.] 


THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


27  5 


ceased  to  love  her,  expunged  the  whole  past  A nature  with 
any  nobleness  never  forgets  that  once  it  loved,  and  once  was 
happy  in  that  love ; the  generous  heart  is  grateful  in  its 
memories.  The  j#eart  of  the  Frau  von  Stein  had  no  memory 
but  for  its  wounds.  She  spoke  with  petty  malice  of  the  “ low 
person  ” who  had  usurped  her  place ; rejected  Goethe’s 
friendship ; affected  to  pity  him  ; and  circulated  gossip  about 
his  beloved.  They  were  forced  to  meet ; but  they  met  no 
longer  as  before.  To  the  last  he  thought  and  spoke  of  her 
tenderly  ; and  I know  on  unexceptionable  authority  that  when 
there  was  anything  appetizing  brought  to  table,  which  he 
thought  would  please  her,  he  often  said,  “ Send  some  of  this 
to  the  Frau  von  Stein.” 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 

To  the  immense  variety  of  his  studies  in  Art  and  Science 
must  now  be  added  a fragmentary  acquaintance  with  the  phi- 
losophy of  Kant.  He  had  neither  the  patience  nor  the  de- 
light in  metaphysical  abstractions  requisite  to  enable  him  to 
master  the  Critique  of  Pure  Reason ; but  he  read  here  and 
there  in  it,  as  he  read  in  Spinoza ; and  was  especially  inter- 
ested in  the  aesthetical  portions  of  the  Kritik  der  Urtheilskraft . 
This  was  a means  of  bringing  him  nearer  to  Schiller,  who  still 
felt  the  difference  between  them  to  be  profound  ; as  we  see  in 
what  he  wrote  to  Korner  : “ His  philosophy  draws  too  much 
of  its  material  from  the  world  of  the  senses, where  I only  draw 
from  the  soul.  His  mode  of  presentation  is  altogether  too 
sensuous  for  me.  But  his  spirit  works  and  seeks  in  every  di- 


2 y6 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


rection,  striving  to  create  a whole,  and  that  makes  him  in  my 
eyes  a great  man.” 

Remarkable  indeed  is  the  variety  of  his  strivings.  After 
completing  Tasso , we  find  him  writing  on  the  Roman  Carni- 
val, and  on  Imitation  of  Nature,  and  studying  with  strange 
ardor  the  mysteries  of  Botany  and  Optics.  In  poetry  it  is 
only  necessary  to  name  the  Roman  Elegies , to  show  what  pro- 
ductivity in  that  direction  he  was  capable  of ; although,  in  truth, 
his  poetical  activity  was  then  in  subordination  to  his  activity 
in  science.  He  was,  socially,  in  an  unpleasant  condition ; 
and,  as  he  subsequently  confessed,  would  never  have  been 
able  to  hold  out,  had  it  not  been  for  his  studies  in  Art  and 
Nature.  In  all  times  these  were  his  refuge  and  consolation. 

On  Art,  the  world  listened  to  him  attentively.  On  Science, 
the  world  would  not  listen,  but  turned  away  in  silence,  some- 
times in  derision.  In  both  he  was  only  an  amateur.  He  had 
no  executive  ability  in  Painting  or  Sculpture  to  give  authority 
to  his  opinions,  yet  his  word  was  listened  to  with  respect, 
often  with  enthusiasm.*  But  while  artists  and  the  public  ad- 
mitted that  a man  of  genius  might  speak  with  some  authority, 
although  an  amateur,  men  of  science  were  not  willing  that  a 
man  of  genius  should  speak  on  their  topics  until  he  had 
passed  College  Examinations  and  received  his  diploma.  The 
veriest  blockhead  who  had  received  a diploma  considered 
himself  entitled  to  sneer  at  the  poet  who  “ dabbled  in  com- 
parative anatomy.”  Nevertheless,  that  poet  made  discoveries 
and  enunciated  laws,  the  importance  of  which  the  professional 
sneerer  could  not  even  appreciate,  so  far  did  they  transcend 
his  knowledge. 

Professional  men  have  a right  to  be  suspicious  of  the  ama- 

* Rauch,  the  sculptor,  told  me  that  among  the  influences  of  his  life, 
he  reckons  the  enthusiasm  which  Goethe’s  remarks  on  Art  excited  in 
him.  Many  others  would  doubtless  say  the  same. 


788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


277 


teur,  for  they  know  how  arduous  a training  is  required  by  Sci- 
ence. But  while  it  is  just  that  they  should  be  suspicious , it  is 
absurd  for  them  to  shut  their  eyes.  When  the  amateur  brings 
forward  crudities,  which  he  announces  to  be  discoveries,  their 
scorn  may  be  legitimate  enough  ; but  when  he  happens  to 
bring  forward  a discovery,  and  they  treat  it  as  a crudity,  their 
scorn  becomes  self-stultification.  If  their  professional  train- 
ing gives  them  superiority,  that  superiority  should  give  them 
greater  readiness  of  apprehension.  The  truth  is,  however, 
that  ordinary  professional  training  gives  them  nothing  of  the 
sort.  The  mass  of  men,  simply  because  they  are  a mass  of 
men,  receive  with  difficulty  every  new  idea,  unless  it  lies  in 
the  track  of  their  own  knowledge  ; and  this  opposition,  which 
every  new  idea  must  vanquish,  becomes  tenfold  greater  when 
the  idea  is  promulgated  from  a source  not  in  itself  authori- 
tative. 

But  whence  comes  this  authority  ? From  the  respect  paid 
to  genius  and  labor.  The  man  of  genius  who  is  known  to 
have  devoted  much  time  to  the  consideration  of  any  subject  is 
justly  supposed  to  be  more  competent  to  speak  on  that  sub- 
ject than  one  who  has  paid  little  attention  to  it.  No  amount 
of  genius,  no  amount  of  study,  can  secure  a man  from  his  na- 
tive fallibility ; but,  after  adequate  study,  there  is  a presump- 
tion in  his  favor ; and  it  is  this  presumption  which  constitutes 
authority.  In  the  case  of  a poet  who  claims  to  be  heard  on  a 
question  of  science,  we  hastily  assume  that  he  has  not  given 
the  requisite  labor ; and  on  such  topics  genius  without  labor 
carries  no  authority.  But  if  his  researches  show  that  the 
labor  has  been  given,  we  must  then  cease  to  regard  him  as  a 
poet,  and  admit  him  to  the  citizenship  of  science:  No  one 

disputes  the  immense  glory  of  a Haller  or  a Redi,  on  the 
ground  of  their  being  poets.  They  were  poets  and  scientific 
workers  ; and  so  was  Goethe.  This  would  perhaps  have  been 


278 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


more  readily  acknowledged  if  he  had  walked  in  the  well-beaten 
tracks  of  scientific  thought ; but  he  opened  new  tracks,  and 
those  who  might  perhaps  have  accepted  him  as  a colleague, 
were  called  upon  to  accept  him  as  a guide.  Human  nature 
could  not  stand  this.  The  presumption  against  a poet  was 
added  to  the  presumption  against  novelty;  singly  each  of 
these  would  have  been  an  obstacle  to  a ready  acceptance ; 
united  they  were  insuperable. 

When  Goethe  wrote  his  exquisite  little  treatise  on  the 
Metamorphoses  of  Plants f he  had  to  contend  against  the  two- 
fold obstacle  of  resistance  to  novelty,  and  his  own  reputation. 
Had  an  obscure  professor  published  this  work,  its  novelty 
would  alone  have  sufficed  to  render  it  unacceptable ; but  the 
obscurest  name  in  Germany  would  have  had  a prestige  greater 
than  the  name  of  the  great  poet.  All  novelty  is  prima  facie 
suspicious  ; none  but  the  young  welcome  it ; for  is  not  every 
new  discovery  a kind  of  slur  on  the  sagacity  of  those  who 
overlooked  it  ? And  can  novelty  in  science,  promulgated  by 
a poet,  be  worth  the  trouble  of  refutation  ? The  professional 
authorities  decided  that  it  could  not.  The  publisher  of 
Goethe’s  works,  having  consulted  a botanist,  declined  to 
undertake  the  printing  of  the  Metamorphoses  of  Plants.  The 
work  was  only  printed  at  last  because  an  enterprising  book- 
seller hoped  thereby  to  gain  the  publication  of  the  other 
works.  When  it  appeared,  the  public  saw  in  it  a pretty  piece 
of  fancy,  nothing  more.  Botanists  shrugged  their  shoulders, 
and  regretted  the  author  had  not  reserved  his  imagination 
for  his  poems.  No  one  believed  in  the  theory,  not  even  his 
attached  friends.  He  had  to  wait  many  years  before  seeing  it 
generally ’accepted,  and  it  was  then  only  accepted  because 
great  botanists  had  made  it  acceptable.  A considerable 
authority  on  this  matter  has  told  us  how  long  the  theory  was 

* He  has  also  a poem  on  this  subject,  but  it  is  scarcely  more  poetical. 


1788. J THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


279 


neglected,  and  how  “depuis  dix  ans  (written  in  1838)  il  n’a 
peut-etre  pas  ete  publie  un  seul  livre  d’orgarvographie,  ou  de 
botanique  descriptive,  qui  ne  porte  l’empreinte  des  idees  de 
cet  ecrivain  illustre.”  * It  was  the  fact  of  the  theory  being 
announced  by  the  author  of  Werther  which  mainly  retarded  its 
acceptance ; but  the  fact  also  that  the  theory  was  leagues  in 
advance  of  the  state  of  science  in  that  day,  must  not  be  over- 
looked. For  it  is  curious  that  the  leading  idea  had  been  briefly 
yet  explicitly  announced  as  early  as  1759,  by  Caspar  Friedrich 
Wolff,  in  his  now  deservedly  celebrated  Theoria  Generationis , 
and  again,  in  1764,  in  his  Theorie  von  der  Generation^  I shall 
have  to  recur  to  Wolff ; at  present  it  need  only  be  noted  that 
even  his  professional  authority  and  remarkable  power  could 
not  secure  the  slightest  attention  from  botanists  for  the 
morphological  theory,  — a proof  that  the  age  was  not  ripe  for 
its  acceptance. 

A few  of  the  eminent  botanists  began,  after  the  lapse  of 
some  years,  to  recognize  the  discovery.  Thus  Kieser  declared 
it  to  be  “ certainly  the  vastest  conception  which  vegetable 
physiology  had  for  a long  time  known.”  Voigt  expressed  his 
irritation  at  the  blindness  of  the  botanists  in  refusing  to 
accept  it.  Nees  von  Esenbeck,  one  of  the  greatest  names  in 
the  science,  wrote,  in  18 18,  “Theophrastus  is  the  creator  of 
modern  botany.  Goethe  is  its  tender  father,  to  whom  it  will 
raise  looks  full  of  love  and  gratitude,  as  soon  as  it  grows  out  of 
its  infancy,  and  acquires  the  sentiment  which  it  owes  to  him 
who  has  raised  it  to  so  high  a position.”  And  Sprengel,  in 
his  History  of  Botany , frequently  mentions  the  theory.  In  one 

* Auguste  St.  Hilaire,  Comptes  Rendus  des  Stances  de  /'Acad., 
VII.  437.  See  also  his  work  Morphologie  Vegetale,  Vol.  I.  p.  IS- 

t I have  only  been  able  to  procure  this  latter  work,  which  is  a more 
popular  and  excursive  exposition  of  the  principles  maintained  in  the 
Inaugural  Dissertation  of  1759. 


280 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE. 


[book  V. 


place  he  says,  “The  Metamorphoses  had  a meaning  so  profound, 
joined  to  such  great  simplicity,  and  was  so  fertile  in  conse- 
quences, that  we  must  not  be  surprised  if  it  stood  in  need  of 
multiplied  commentaries,  and  if  many  botanists  failed  to  see 
its  importance.”  It  is  now,  and  has  been  for  some  years, 
the  custom  to  insert  a chapter  on  Metamorphosis  in  every 
work  which  pretends  to  a high  scientific  character. 

He  was  not  much  hurt  at  the  reception  of  his  work.  He 
knew  how  unwilling  men  are  to  accord  praise  to  any  one  who 
aims  at  success  in  different  spheres,  and  found  it  perfectly 
natural  they  should  be  so  unwilling ; adding,  however,  that 
“ an  energetic  nature  feels  itself  brought  into  the  world  for 
its  own  development , and  not  for  the  approbation  of  the  public .” 

Side  by  side  with  botanical  and  anatomical  studies  must 
be  placed  his  optical  studies.  A more  illustrative  contrast 
can  scarcely  be  found  than  is  afforded  by  the  history  of  his 
efforts  in  these  two  directions.  They  throw  light  upon  sci- 
entific Method,  and  they  throw  light  on  his  scientific  quali- 
ties and  defects.  If  we  have  hitherto  followed  him  with 
sympathy  and  admiration,  we  must  now  be  prepared  to  fol- 
low him  with  that  feeling  of  pain  which  rises  at  the  sight  of  a 
great  intellect  struggling  in  a false  direction.  His  botanical 
and  anatomical  studies  were  of  that'  high  character  which 
makes  one  angry  at  their  cold  reception  ; his  optical  studies 
were  of  a kind  to  puzzle  and  to  irritate  the  professional  public. 

He  has  written  the  history  of  these  studies  also.  From 
youth  upwards  he  had  been  prone  to  theorize  on  painting, 
led  thereto,  as  he  profoundly  remarks,  by  the  very  absence 
of  a talent  for  painting.  It  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  the- 
orize on  poetry ; he  had  within  him  the  creative  power.  It 
was  necessary  for  him  to  theorize  on  painting,  because  he 
wanted  “ by  reason  and  insight  to  fill  up  the  deficiencies  of 
nature.”  In  Italy  these  theories  found  abundant  stimulus. 


1788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


28l 


With  his  painter  friends  he  discussed  color  and  coloring, 
trying  by  various  paradoxes  to  strike  out  a truth.  The 
friends  were  all  deplorably  vague  in  their  notions  of  color. 
The  critical  treatises  were  equally  vague.  Nowhere  could 
he  find  firm  ground.  He  began  to  think  of  the  matter  from 
the  opposite  side,  — instead  of  trying  to  solve  the  artists’ 
problem,  he  strove  to  solve  the  scientific  problem.  He 
asked  himself,  What  is  color  ? Men  of  science  referred  him 
to  Newton  ; but  Newton  gave  him  little  help.  Professor 
Biittner  lent  him  some  prisms  and  optical  instruments,  to 
try  the  prescribed  experiments.  He  kept  the  prisms  a long 
while,  but  made  no  use  of  them.  Biittner  wrote  to  him  for 
his  instruments  ; Goethe  neither  sent  them  back,  nor  set  to 
work  with  them.  He  delayed  from  day  to  day,  occupied  with 
other  things.  At  last  Biittner  became  uneasy,  and  sent  for 
the  prisms,  saying  they  should  be  lent  again  at  a future  pe- 
riod, but  that  at  any  rate  he  must  have  them  returned. 
Forced  thus  to  part  with  them,  yet  unwilling  to  send  them 
back  without  making  one  effort,  he  told  the  messenger  to 
wait,  and  taking  up  a prism,  looked  through  it  at  the  white 
wall  of  his  room,  expecting  to  see  the  whole  wall  colored  in 
various  tints,  according  to  the  Newtonian  statement.  To  his 
astonishment,  he  saw  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  saw  that  the 
wall  remained  as  white  as  before,  and  that  only  there,  where 
an  opaque  interfered,  could  a more  or  less  decisive  color  be 
observed  ; that  the  window-frames  were  most  colored,  while 
the  light  gray  heaven  without  showed  no  trace  of  color. 
“It  needed  very  little  meditation  to  discover  that  to  pro- 
duce color  a limit  was  necessary,  and  instinctively  I ex- 
claimed, ‘Newton’s  theory  is  false!’”  There  could  be  no 
thought  of  sending  back  the  prisms  at  such  a juncture  ; so  he 
wrote  to  Biittner  begging  for  a longer  loan,  and  set  to  work 
in  real  earnest. 


282  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [rook  v. 

This  was  an  unhappy  commencement.  He  began  with  a 
false  conception  of  Newton’s  theory,  and  thought  he  was 
overthrowing  Newton  when,  in  fact,  he  was  combating  his 
own  error.  The  Newtonian  theory  does  not  say  that  a white 
surface  seen  through  a prism  appears  colored,  but  that  it 
appears  white,  its  edges  only  colored.  The  fancied  discov- 
ery of  Newton’s  error  stung  him  like  a gadfly.  He  multi- 
plied experiments,  turned  the  subject  incessantly  over  in  his 
mind,  and  instead  of  going  the  simple  way  t6  work,  and  learn- 
ing the  a,  b,  c,  of  the  science,  tried  the  very  longest  of  all 
short  cuts,  namely,  experiment  on  insufficient  knowledge. 
He  made  a white  disk  on  a black  ground,  and  this,  seen 
through  the  prism,  gave  him  the  spectrum,  as  in  the  New- 
tonian theory ; but  he  found  that  a black  disk  on  a white 
ground  also  produced  the  same  effect.  “ ‘ If  Light,’  said  I 
to  myself,  £ resolves  itself  into  various  colors  in  the  first 
case,  then  must  Darkness  also  resolve  itself  into  various 
colors  in  this  second  case.’  ” And  thus  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  Color  is  not  contained  in  Light,  but  is  the 
product  of  an  intermingling  of  Light  and  Darkness. 

“ Having  no  experience  in  such  matters,  and  not  knowing 
the  direction  I ought  to  take,  I addressed  myself  to  a Physi- 
cist of  repute,  begging  him  to  verify  the  results  I had  arrived 
at.  I had  already  told  him  my  doubts  of  the  Newtonian 
hypothesis,  and  hoped  to  see  him  at  once  share  my  convic- 
tion. But  how  great  was  my  surprise  when  he  assured  me 
that  the  phenomenon  I spoke  of  was  already  known,  and 
perfectly  explained  by  the  Newtonian  theory.  In  vain  I 
protested  and  combated  his  arguments ; he  held  stolidly  to 
the  credo , and  told  me  to  repeat  my  experiments  in  a camera 
obscura .” 

Instead  of  quieting  him,  this  rebuff  only  turned  him  away 
from  all  Physicists,  that  is,  from  all  men  who  had  special 


788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE.  283 


knowledge  on  the  subject,  and  made  him  pursue  in  silence 
his  own  path.  Friends  were  amused  and  interested  by  his 
experiments  ; their  ignorance  made  them  ready  adepts.  The 
Duchess  Luise  showed  especial  interest ; and  to  her  he  after- 
wards dedicated  his  Farbenlehre.  The  Duke  also  shared  the 
enthusiasm.  The  Duke  of  Gotha  placed  at  his  disposal  a 
magnificent  laboratory.  Prince  August  sent  him  splendid 
prisms  from  England.  Princes  and  poetasters  believed  he 
was  going  to  dethrone  Newton  ; men  of  science  only  laughed 
at  his  pretension,  and  would  not  pay  his  theory  the  honor 
of  a refutation.  One  fact  he  records  as  very  noticeable, 
namely,  that  he  could  count  Anatomists,  Chemists,  Littera- 
teurs, and  Philosophers,  such  as  Loder,  Sommering,  Gottling, 
Wolff,  Forster,  Schelling  (and,  subsequently,  Hegel),  among 
his  adherents but  not  one  Physicist.  Nor  does  he,  in 
recording  this  fact,  see  that  it  is  destructive  of  his  preten- 
sions. 

What  claim  had  Anatomists,  Litterateurs,  and  Philosphers 
to  be  heard  in  such  a controversy?  Who  would  listen  to  a 
mathematician  appealing  to  the  testimony  of  zoologists 
against  the  whole  body  of  mathematicians  past  and  present  ? 
There  is  this  much,  however,  to  be  said  for  Goethe  : he  had 
already  experienced  neglect  from  professional  authorities 
when  he  discovered  the  intermaxillary  bone,  and  when,  in 
the  Metamorphoses  of  Plants , he  laid  before  them  a real  dis- 
covery, the  truth  of  which  he  profoundly  felt.  He  was  pre- 
pared therefore  for  a similar  disregard  of  his  claims  when  he 
not  only  produced  a new  theory,  but  attacked  the  highest 
scientific  authority.  He  considered  that  Newtonians  looked 
on  him  as  a natural  enemy.  He  thought  them  steadfastly 
bent  on  maintaining  established  prejudice.  He  thought  they 
were  a guild  united  against  all  innovation  by  common  inter- 
est and  common  ignorance.  Their  opposition  never  made 


284 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


him  pause ; their  arguments  never  made  him  swerve.  He 
thought  them  profoundly  in  error  when  they  imagined  optics 
to  be  a part  of  mathematics ; and  as  he  did  not  understand 
mathematics,  he  could  not  appreciate  their  arguments. 

His  Beitrage  zur  Optik , which  appeared  in  1791,  was  a 
sort  of  feeler  thrown  out  to  the  great  public.  The  public  was 
utterly  unsympathizing.  The  ignorant  had  no  interest  in 
such  matters,  and  certainly  would  not  address  themselves  to 
a poet  for  instruction  ; the  physicists  saw  that  he  was  wrong. 
“ Everywhere,”  he  says,  “ I found  incredulity  as  to  my  com- 
petence in  such  a matter ; everywhere  a sort  of  repulsion  at 
my  efforts ; and  the  more  learned  and  well  informed  the  men 
were,  the  more  decided  was  their  opposition.” 

For  years  and  years  he  continued  his  researches  with  a pa- 
tience worthy  of  admiration.  Opposition  moved  him  not ; it 
rather  helped  to  increase  his  obstinacy.  It  extorted  from  him 
expressions  of  irritability  and  polemical  bad  taste,  which  as- 
tound us  in  one  elsewhere  so  calm  and  tolerant.  Perhaps,  as 
Canon  Kingsley  once  suggested  to  me,  he  had  a vague  feeling 
that  his  conclusions  were  not  sound,  and  felt  the  jealousy 
incident  to  imperfect  conviction.  Where  his  conviction  was 
perfect,  he  was  calm.  The  neglect  of  his  Metamorphoses, 
the  denial  of  his  discovery  of  the  intermaxillary  bone,  the 
indifference  with  which  his  essays  on  Comparative  Anatomy 
were  treated,  — all  this  he  bore  with  philosophic  serenity. 
But  on  the  Farbenlehre  he  was  always  sensitive,  and  in  old 
age  ludicrously  so.  Eckermann  records  a curious  conversa- 
tion, wherein  he  brings  forward  a fact  he  has  observed,  which 
contradicts  the  theory  of  colors ; and  Goethe  not  only  grows 
angry,  but  refuses  to  admit  the  fact.  In  this  matter  of  Color 
he  showed  himself  morally  weak,  as  well  as  intellectually 
weak.  “ As  for  what  I have  done  as  a poet,”  said  the  old 
man  once,  “ I take  no  pride  in  it  whatever.  Excellent  poets 


1788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAH  OF  SCIENCE.  285 


have  lived  at  the  same  time  with  myself ; more  excellent 
poets  have  lived  before  me,  and  will  come  after  me.  But  that 
in  my  century  I am  the  only  person  who  knows  the  truth  in 
the  difficult  science  of  colors  — of  that,  I say,  I am  not  a 
little  proud.” 

The  reader  will  doubtless  be  curious  to  know  something  of 
this  Theory  of  Colors  ; and  although  it  must  necessarily  ap- 
pear greatly  to  its  disadvantage  in  the  brief  abstract  for  which 
alone  I can  find  space,  an  abstract  without  the  numerous 
illustrations  and  experiments  which  give  the  theory  a plausible 
aspect,  yet  the  kernel  of  the  matter  will  appear. 

The  Newtonian  theory  is  that  white  light  is  composed  of 
the  seven  prismatic  cojors,  i.  e.  rays  having  different  degrees 
of  refrangibility.  Goethe  says  it  is  not  composed  at  all,  but 
is  the  simplest  and  most  homogeneous  thing  we  know.*  It 
is  absurd  to  call  it  composed  of  colors,  for  every  light  which 
has  taken  a color  is  darker  than  colorless  light  Brightness 
cannot  therefore  be  a compound  of  darkness.  There  are  but 
two  pure  colors,  blue  and  yello7u , both  of  which  have  a ten- 
dency to  become  red \ through  violet  and  orange  ; there  are  also 
two  mixtures,  green  and  purple.  Every  other  color  is  a degree 
of  one  of  these,  or  is  impure.  Colors  originate  in  the  modifi- 
cation of  Light  by  outward  circumstances.  They  are  not 
developed  out  of  Light,  but  by  it.  For  the  phenomenon  of 
Color,  there  is  demanded  Light  and  Darkness.  Nearest  the 
Light  appears  a color  we  nzxnz  yellow ; nearest  the  Darkness, 
a color  we  name  blue.  Mix  these  two  and  you  have  green. 

Starting  from  the  fundamental  error  of  the  simplicity  of 

* “ Let  us  thank  the  gods,”  exclaims  Schelling,  “ that  they  have 
emancipated  us  from  the  Newtonian  spectrum  {spectruvi  truly  !)  of  com- 
posed light.  We  owe  this  to  the  genius  to  whom  our  debt  is  already  so 
large.”  — Zeitschrift  fur  spekul.  Philos .,  II.  p.  60.  To  the  same  effect 
Hegel  in  his  Encyklopadie  der philos.  Wissenschaften. 


286 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


Light,  Goethe  undertakes  to  explain  all  the  phenomena  of 
Color,  by  means  of  what  he  calls  the  Opaques , — the  media. 
He  maintains  that  on  the  one  hand  there  is  Light,  and  on  the 
other  Darkness ; if  a semi-transparent  medium  be  brought 
between  the  two,  from  these  contrasts  and  this  medium, 
Colors  are  developed,  contrasted  in  like  manner,  but  soon 
through  a reciprocal  relation  tending  to  a point  of  reunion. 

The  highest  degree  of  Light  seen  through  a medium  very 
slightly  thickened  appears  yellow.  If  the  density  of  the 
medium  be  increased,  or  if  its  volume  become  greater,  the 
light  will  gradually  assume  a yellow-red,  which  deepens  at  last 
to  a ruby. 

The  highest  degree  of  Darkness  seen  through  a semi-trans- 
parent medium,  which  is  itself  illuminated  by  a light  striking 
on  it,  gives  a blue  color ; which  becomes  paler  as  the  density 
of  the  medium  is  increased  ; but  on  the  contrary  becomes 
darker  and  deeper  as  the  medium  becomes  more  transparent. 
In  the  least  degree  of  dimness  short  of  absolute  transparency, 
the  deep  blue  becomes  the  most  beautiful  violet. 

There  are  many  interesting  facts  adduced  in  illustration. 
Thus  smoke  appears  yellow  or  red  before  a light  ground, 
blue  before  a dark  ground  ; the  blue  color,  at  the  under  part 
of  a candle-flame,  is  also  a case  of  blue  seen  opposite  a dark 
ground.  Light  transmitted  through  the  air  is  yellow,  orange, 
or  red,  according  to  the  density  of  the  air  ; Darkness  trans- 
mitted through  the  air  is  blue,  as  is  the  case  of  the  sky,  or 
distant  mountains. 

He  tells  a curious  anecdote  in  illustration  of  this  blueness 
of  darkness.  A painter  had  an  old  portrait  of  a theologian 
to  clean  ; the  wet  sponge  passing  over  the  black  velvet  dress, 
suddenly  changed  it  to  a light  blue  plush.  Puzzled  at  this 
truly  remarkable  phenomenon,  and  not  understanding  how 
light  blue  could  be  the  ground  of  deep  black,  he  was  in  great 


1 788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE.  2 87 

grief  at  the  thought  of  having  thus  ruined  the  picture.  The 
next  morning,  to  his  joy,  he  found  the  black  velvet  had  re- 
sumed its  pristine  splendor.  To  satisfy  his  curiosity,  he  could 
not  refrain  from  wetting  a corner  once  more,  and  again  he 
saw  the  blue  appear.  Goethe  was  informed  of  the  phenom- 
enon, which  was  once  more  produced,  in  his  presence.  “ I 
explained  it,”  he  says,  “ by  my  doctrine  of  the  semi-opaque 
medium.  The  original  painter,  in  order  to  give  additional 
depth  to  his  black,  may  have  passed  some  particular  varnish 
over  it ; on  being  washed,  this  varnish  imbibed  some  moisture, 
and  hence  became  semi-opaque,  in  consequence  of  which  the 
black  beneath  immediately  appeared  blue.”  The  explanation 
is  very  ingenious  ; nor  does  the  Edinburgh  reviewer’s  answer 
seem  to  meet  the  question,  when  he  says  :*  “As  there  is  no 
gum  or  resin,  or  varnish  of  any  kind  that  possesses  the  prop- 
erty of  yielding  blue  or  any  other  color  by  being  wetted,  we 
have  no  doubt  the  varnish  had  been  worn  off,  or  else  the 
picture  never  had  been  varnished.”  It  is  not  a question  of 
wetted  varnish  yielding  blue,  but  of  wetted  varnish  furnishing 
the  medium  through  Which  black  appears  blue.  The  reviewer’s 
explanation,  however,  is  probably  correct.  He  assumes  that 
there  was  no  varnish,  and  that  the  particles  of  bodies  which 
produce  blackness,  on  the  usual  theory,  are  smaller  than  those 
which  produce  blue  or  any  other  color  ; and  if  we  increase 
the  size  of  the  particles  which  produce  blackness  by  the 
smallest  quantity,  they  yield  the  blue  color  described  by 
Goethe.  The  action  of  the  water  swelled  them  a little,  and 
thus  gave  them  the  size  which  fitted  them  to  reflect  blue  rays. 

The  theory  loses  much  of  its  seductive  plausibility  when 
thus  reduced  to  its  simplest  expression.  Let  us,  however,  do 
the  same  for  the  Newtonian  theory,  and  then  estimate  their 
comparative  value.  Newton  assumes  that  white  Light  is  a 


* Edin.  Rev.,  October,  1840,  p.  1 17. 


288 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


compound  ; and  he  proves  this  assumption  by  decomposing 
a beam  of  light  into  its  elements.  These  elements  are  rays, 
having  different  degrees  of  refrangibility,  separable  from  each 
other  by  different  media.  Each  ray  produces  its  individual 
color.  Not  only  will  the  beam  of  white  Light  in  passing 
through  a prism  be  separated  into  its  constituent  rays,  or 
colors,  but  these  rays  may  be  again  collected  by  a large  lens, 
and,  in  being  thus  brought  together,  again  reappear  as  white 
Light.  There  are  few  theories  in  science  which  present  a 
more  satisfactory  union  of  logic  and  experiment. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  Goethe’s  theory  is  also  extremely 
plausible ; and  he  has  supported  it  with  so  many  accurate 
experiments  and  admirable  observations,  that  to  this  day  it 
has  not  only  found  ardent  advocates,  even  among  men  of 
science,  though  these  are  few,  but  has  very  sorely,  perplexed 
many  Newtonians,  who,  relying  on  the  mathematical  accuracy 
of  their  own  theory,  have  contemptuously  dismissed  Goethe’s 
speculation  instead  of  victoriously  refuting  it.  His  obstinacy 
was  excusable,  since  believing  himself  to  be  in  the  right  he 
challenged  refutation,  and  no  one  picked  up  his  gauntlet. 
They  declined  in  contempt,  which  he  interpreted  as  bigotry. 
He  tried  to  get  the  French  Academy  to  make  a report  on  his 
work.  This  honor  was  withheld  : Cuvier  disdainfully  declaring 
that  such  work  was  not  one  to  occupy  an  Academy  ; Delambre 
answering  all  solicitations  with  this  phrase  : “ Des  observa- 
tions, des  experiences,  et  surtout  ne  commengons  pas  par 
attaquer  Newton.”  As  if  the  Farbenlehre  were  not  founded 
on  observations  and  experiments  ! as  if  the  glory  of  Newton 
were  to  stand  inviolate  before  all  things  ! Goethe  might  well 
resent  such  treatment.  If  he  was  wrong  in  his  theory,  if  his 
experiments  were  incomplete,  why  were  these  errors  not 
pointed  out?  To  contradict  Newton  might  offer  a presump- 
tion against  the  theory ; but  Newtonians  were  called  upon 


17B8.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


not  to  explain  the  contradiction  between  Goethe  and  Newton, 
which  was  vociferously  announced,  but  the  contradiction  be- 
tween Goethe  and  Truth,  which  they  contemptuously  asserted. 

As  this  is  a branch  of  science  in  which  I can  pretend  to 
no  competence,  and  as  I have  met  with  no  decisive  refutation 
of  Goethe  which  can  be  quoted  here,  I should  consider  it 
sufficient  to  say  that  the  fact  of  the  vast  majority  of  physicists 
in  Europe  refusing  to  pay  any  attention  to  the  Farbenlehre , 
although  not  in  itself  more  than  a presumption  against  that 
theory,  is  nevertheless  a presumption  so  very  strong  as  only 
to  be  set  aside  by  stringently  coercive  evidence.  Looking  at 
the  Farbenlehre  from  the  impartial,  if  imperfect,  point  of  view 
of  an  outsider,  I should  say  that  not  only  has  Goethe  mani- 
festly misunderstood  Newton,  but  has  presented  a theory 
which  is  based  on  a radical  mistake.  The  mistake  is  that  of 
treating  Darkness  as  a positive  quality,  rather  than  as  a 
simple  negation  of  Light.  By  means  of  this  Darkness,  as 
a co-operating  agent  with  Light,  colors  are  said  to  arise. 
Stripped  of  all  the  ambiguities  of  language,  the  theory 
affirms  that  Light  is  itself  perfectly  colorless  until  mingled 
with  various  degrees  of  Nothing,  or,  in  other  words,  until  it 
suffers  various  diminutions ; and  with  each  diminution  the 
colors  become  of  a deeper  hue.  This  may  seem  too  prepos- 
terous for  belief ; yet  what  is  Darkness  but  the  negation  of 
Light  ? It  is  true  that  Goethe  has  in  one  place  named  Dark- 
ness, in  the  abstract,  a pure  negation  ; but  it  is  not  less  true 
that  in  the  construction  of  his  theory,  Darkness  plays  the 
part  of  a positive,  and  necessarily  so ; for  if  we  once  con- 
ceive it  as  a simple  negative,  the  theory  falls  to  the  ground. 
Light  being  assumed  as  colorless,  no  diminution  of  the 
colorless  can  give  colors.  Unless  Darkness  be  positive,  — co- 
operative, — we  are  left  to  seek  the  elements  of  color  in  Light ; 
and  this  is  precisely  where  the  Newtonian  theory  finds  it. 

13  s 


290 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


It  was  an  old  idea  that  the  different  confines  of  shadow 
variously  modify  light,  producing  various  colors.  This  New- 
ton has  elaborately  refuted  ( Optics , Part  II.  Book  I.),  proving 
by  simple  experiments  that  all  colors  show  themselves 
indifferently  in  the  confines  of  shadow ; and  that  when  rays 
which  differ  in  refrangibility  are  separated  from  one  another, 
and  any  one  is  considered  apart,  “the  color  of  the  light 
which  it  composes  cannot  be  changed  by  any  refraction  or 
reflection  whatever,  as  it  ought  to  be  were  colors  nothing  else 
than  modifications  of  light  caused  by  refractions,  reflections, 
and  shadows.” 

It  should  be  emphatically  stated  that  the  highest  physical 
authorities  have  borne  testimony  to  the  accuracy  of  Goethe’s 
facts  ; and  as  these  facts  are  exceedingly  numerous,  and  often 
highly  important,  the  value  of  his  optical  studies  must  be 
estimated  as  considerable.  He  was  a man  of  genius,  and  he 
labored  with  the  passionate  patience  of  genius.  But  in 
awarding  our  admiration  to  the  man,  we  may  withhold  assent 
from  his  theory.  That  which  has  exasperated  men  of  science, 
and  caused  them  to  speak  slightingly  of  his  labors,  is  the 
bitterly  polemical  tone  of  contempt  with  which  he  announced 
a discovery  which  they  could  not  recognize  as  true.  He  was 
aggressive  and  weak.  He  vociferated  that  Newton  was  in 
error ; and  a casual  glance  at  his  supposed  detection  of  the 
error  discovered  a fundamental  misconception.  If  we  stand 
aloof  from  these  heats  of  personal  conflict,  and  regard  the 
subject  with  a calmer  eye,  we  shall  see  that  the  question 
simply  reduces  itself  to  this : which  of  the  two  theories  offers 
the  fullest  and  clearest  explanation  of  the  facts  ? 

Light  and  Colors  are,  like  Sound  and  Tones,  to  be  viewed 
as  objective  phenomena,  related  to  certain  external  con- 
ditions ; or  as  subjective  phenomena,  related  to  certain 
sensations.  Before  asking,  What  is  Light  or  Sound  ? we  must 


788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


29I 

consider  whether  we  seek  the  objective  fact,  or  the  subjective 
sensation.  Every  one  admits  that,  apart  from  a. sensitive 
organism,  the  objective  phenomena  of  Light  and  Sound  exist, 
although  not  as  the  Light  and  Sound  known  in  our  sensations. 
But  as  we  can  only  know  them  through  our  sensations,  it 
seems  eminently  philosophical  to  begin  our  study  with  these. 
And  this  Goethe  has  done.  He  first  unfolds  the  laws  of 
physiological  colors,  i.  e.  the  modifications  of  the  retina ; and 
his  immense  services  in  this  direction  have  been  cordially 
recognized  by  Physiologists.  Since,  however,  we  can  never 
learn  thus  what  are  the  external  conditions  of  the  phenomena, 
we  have  to  seek  in  objective  facts  such  an  explanation  as  will 
best  guide  us.  The  assumption  of  rays  having  different 
degrees  of  refrangibility  may  one  day  turn  out  to  be  erro- 
neous ; but  it  is  an  assumption  which  colligates  the  facts 
better  than  any  other  hitherto  propounded,  and  therefore  it  is 
accepted.  By  regarding  both  Sound  and  Light  as  produced 
from  waves  of  an  elastic  medium,  acoustic  and  optic  phenomena 
are  reducible  to  calculation.  It  is  true  they  thus  incur  Goethe’s 
reproach  of  ceasing  to  be  concrete  objects  to  the  mind,  and 
becoming  mathematical  symbols ; but  this  is  the  very  ambi- 
tion of  scientific  research  : a point  to  which  I shall  presently 
return.  Let  us  compare  the  objective  and  subjective  facts. 

If  an  elastic  rod  be  made  to  vibrate,  the  ear  perceives 
nothing  until  the  vibrations  reach  sixteen  in  a second,  at 
which  point  the  lowest  tone  becomes  audible ; if  the  rapidity 
of  the  vibrations  be  now  constantly  accelerated,  tones  higher 
and  higher  in  the  scale  become  audible,  till  the  vibrations 
reach  thirty-two  thousand  in  a second,  at  which  point  the  ear 
again  fails  to  detect  any  sound.  In  like  manner,  it  is  calcu- 
lated that  when  vibrations  reach  four  hundred  and  eighty-three 
billions  in  a second,  Light,  or  rather  the  red  ray,  begins  to 
manifest  itself  to  the  retina ; with  increasing  rapidity  of  vibra- 


292 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


tion,  the  colors  pass  into  orange,  yellow,  green,  blue,  and 
violet,  till  seven  hundred  and  twenty-seven  billions  are 
reached,  at  which  point  no  light  is  perceptible.  Here 
chemical  action  begins ; and  the  rays  are  called  chemical 
rays ; as  at  the  other  end  of  the  spectrum  they  are  called 
heat  rays.  These  are  objective  conditions  which  have  been 
rigorously  ascertained ; and  most  important  results  have 
been  arrived  at  through  them. 

The  subjective  facts  according  to  Goethe  lead  to  the 
belief  that  Tones  are  the  product  of  Sound  and  Silence,  as 
Colors  are  of  Light  and  Darkness.  Sound  is  made  various 
(in  tones)  by  various  intermixtures  with  Silence.  Descending 
from  the  highest  audible  note  there  is  a gradual  retardation 
of  the  vibrations,  caused  by  the  gradual  encroachments  of 
Silence,  until  at  length  Silence  predominates  and  no  Sound  is 
heard.  Suppose  this  hypothesis  granted,  we  shall  still  have 
to  ask  what  are  the  conditions  of  this  Silence  ? If  these  are 
retardations  of  vibration,  we  may  dispense  with  the  hypothet- 
ical Silence.  By  similar  reasoning  we  dispense  with  the 
hypothetical  Darkness. 

The  assumption  of  different  rays  of  unequal  refrangibility 
is  not  only  supported  by  the  prismatic  decomposition  and 
recomposition  of  light,  but  also  finds  confirmation  in  the  law 
of  Refraction  discovered  by  Snellius.  And  the  consequence 
drawn  from  it,  namely,  that  the  relation  of  the  sine  of  inci- 
dence, though  constant  for  each  color,  varies  in  the  different 
colors  of  the  spectrum,  brings  the  whole  question  within  the 
domain  of  mathematical  calculation.  The  phenomena  cease 
to  be  qualitative  only,  and  become  quantitative : they  are 
measureable,  and  are  measured.  On  Goethe’s  theory,  grant- 
ing its  truth,  the  phenomena  are  not  measurable ; and 
whoever  glances  into  a modern  work  on  Optics  will  see  that 
the  precision  and  extent  to  which  calculation  has  been  carried, 


788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


293 

are  in  themselves  sufficient  grounds  for  assigning  the  prefer- 
ence to  the  theory  which  admits  such  calculation. 

Goethe’s  want  of  acquaintance  with  Mathematics  and  with 
the  Methods  of  Physical  Science  prevented  his  understand- 
ing the  defect  in  his  own  theory,  and  the  manifest  superior- 
ity of  the  theory  which  he  attacked.  He  opposed  every 
mathematical  treatment  of  the  subject  as  mischievous  ; and 
Hegel,  who  has  shown  himself  still  more  opposed  to  the 
Methods  of  science,  applauds  him  on  this  very  point. 

“ I raised  the  whole  school  of  Mathematicians  against  me,” 
says  Goethe,  “ and  people  were  greatly  amazed  that  one  who 
had  no  insight  into  Mathematics  could  venture  to  contradict 
Newton.  For  that  Physics  could  exist  independently  of  Mathe- 
matics no  one  seemed  to  have  the  slightest  suspicion .”  Nor  has 
that  suspicion  gained  yet  any  ground  with  men  in  the  least 
conversant  with  Physics,  however  necessary  it  may  sometimes 
have  been  to  protest  against  too  exclusive  an  employment  of 
Mathematics.  But  the  misconception  which  lies  at  the  bot- 
tom of  Goethe’s  polemics  was  a very  natural  one  to  a poet 
never  trained  in  Mathematical  or  Experimental  science,  and 
unaware  of  the  peculiar  position  occupied  by  Mathematics  as 
the  great  Instrument  of  research.  In  his  essay  Ueber  Mathe - 
matik  und  deren  Mis sb ranch*  he  compares  the  philosopher 
employing  such  an  instrument  to  a man  who  should  invent  a 
machine  for  drawing  a cork,  an  operation  which  two  arms  and 
hands  very  easily  effect. 

To  make  his  error  intelligible,  let  us  suppose  a man  of  great 
intellectual  acuteness  and  energy  suddenly  to  light  upon  the 
idea  that  our  chemical  theories  were  vitiated  by  a false  basis, 
— that  the  atomic  theory  was  not  only  an  hypothesis,  but  an 
hypothesis  which  misrepresented  the  order  of  Nature  ; there 
being,  in  truth,  none  of  the  quantitative  relations  presupposed 


* Werke,  XL.  p.  468. 


294 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


in  that  theory.  Imagine  the  reformer  setting  to  work,  multi- 
plying experiments,  inventing  explanations,  disregarding  all 
that  the  accumulated  experience  of  ages  had  stored  up  on  this 
very  matter,  and  above  all  despising,  as  useless  or  worse,  the 
very  Instrument  which  rescues  Chemistry  from  rough  guess- 
work,. and  elevates  it  into  the  possibility  of  a science,  — the 
Instrument  known  as  the  Balance.  It  is  probable  that  our 
reformer  would  make  many  curious  observations,  some  of  them 
quite  new.  It  is  probable  that  he  would  in  many  directions 
stimulate  research.  But  it  is  certain  that  he  would  be  hope- 
lessly wrong  in  his  theories,  for  he  would  necessarily  be  im- 
perfect in  his  data.  Without  the  delicate  control  of  the  Bal- 
ance, chemical  experiment  can  never  become  quantitative ; 
and  without  quantitative  knowledge  there  can  be  no  chemical 
science  strictly  so  called,  but  only  qualitative , i.  e.  approxima- 
tive knowledge.  No  amount  of  observation  will  render 
observation  precise,  unless  it  can  be  measured.  No  force  of 
intellect  will  supply  the  place  of  an  Instrument.  You  may 
watch  falling  bodies  for  an  eternity,  but  without  Mathematics 
mere  watching  will  yield  no  law  of  gravitation.  You  may  mix 
acids  and  alkalis  together  with  prodigality,  but  no  amount  of 
experiment  will  yield  the  secret  of  their  composition,  if  you 
have  flung  away  the  Balance. 

Goethe  flung  away  the  Balance.  Hegel  boldly  says  this 
is  Goethe’s  merit.  He  praises  the  “ pure  sense  of  Nature, 
which  in  the  poet  rebelled  against  Newton’s  “ barbarism  of 
Reflection.”  To  the  same  effect  Schelling,  who  does  not 
hesitate  to  choose  it  as  the  very  ground  for  proclaiming 
Goethe’s  superiority  over  the  Newtonians,  that  “ instead  of  the 
artificially  confused  and  disfiguring  experiments  of  the  New- 
tonians, he  places  the  purest,  simplest  verdicts  of  Nature  her- 
self before  us  ” ; he  adds,  “ it  is  not  surprising  that  the  blind 
and  slavish  followers  of  Newton  should  oppose  researches 


295 


1733  ] THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 

• V\ 

which  prove  that  precisely  the  very  section\>qf  physics,  in 
which  up  to  this  time  they  have  imagined  the  nipst  positive, 
nay  almost  geometric  evidence,  to  be  on  their  side,*  i»  based 
on  a fundamental  error.”  * 

This  point  of  Method,  if  properly  examined,  will  help  to 
elucidate  the  whole  question  of  Goethe’s  aptitude  for  dealing 
with  physical  science.  The  native  direction  of  his  mind  is 
visible  in  his  optical  studies  as  decisively  as  in  his  poetry  ; that 
direction  was  towards  the  concrete  phenomenon,  not  towards 
abstractions.  He  desired  to  explain  the  phenomena  of  color, 
and  in  Mathematics  these  phenomena  disappear ; that  is  to 
say,  the  very  thing  to  be  studied  is  hurried  out  of  sight  and 
masked  by  abstractions.  This  was  utterly  repugnant  to  his 
mode  of  conceiving  Nature.  The  marvellous  phenomena  of 
polarized  light  in  the  hands  of  Mathematicians  excited  his 
boundless  scorn.  “ One  knows  not,”  he  says,  “ whether  a 
body  or  a mere  ruin  lies  buried  under  those  formulas.”  t The 
name  of  Biot  threw  him  into  a rage  ; and  he  was  continually 
laughing  at  the  Newtonians  about  their  prisms  and  Spectra, 
as  if  Newtonians  were  pedants  who  preferred  their  dusky 
rooms  to  the  free  breath  of  heaven.  He  always  spoke  of 
observations  made  in  his  garden,  or  with  a simple  prism  in 
the  sunlight,  as  if  the  natural  and  simple  Method  were  much 
more  certain  than  the  artificial  Method  of  Science.  In  this 
he  betrayed  his  misapprehension  of  Method.  He  thought 
that  Nature  revealed  herself  to  the  patient  observer ; — 


“ Und  was  sie  deinem  Geist  nicht  offenbaren  mag, 

Das  zwingst  du  ihr  nicht  ab  mit  Hebeln  und  mit  Schrauben.” 


“And  what  she  does  not  reveal  to  the  Mind  will  not  be 
extorted  from  her  by  Levers  and  Screws.”  Hence  his  fail- 


* Schelling,  Zeitschrift  fur  spekulative  Philos II.  p.  6o. 
t Werke,  XL.  473. 


296 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


ure  ; hence  also  his  success  : for  we  must  not  forget  that  if  as 
a contribution  to  Optics  his  Farbenlehre  be  questionable,  as  a 
contribution  to  the  knowledge  of  color  demanded  by  Artists 
it  is  very  valuable.  Painters  have  repeatedly  acknowledged 
the  advantage  they  have  derived  from  it ; and  I remember 
hearing  Riedel,  at  Rome,  express  the  most  unbounded 
enthusiasm  for  it ; averring  that,  as  a colorist,  he  had  learned 
more  from  the  Farbenlehre  than  from  all  the  other  teachers 
and  books  he  had  ever  known.  To  artists  and  physiolo- 
gists— i.  e.  to  those  who  are  mainly  concerned  with  the 
phenomena  of  color  as  perceptions,  and  who  demand  quali- 
tative rather  than  quantitative  knowledge  — his  labors  have 
a high  value ; and  even  physicists  must  admit,  that  however 
erroneous  the  theo’ry  and  imperfect  the  method  he  has  adopt- 
ed, still  the  immense  accumulation  and  systematization  of 
facts,  and  the  ingenuity  with  which  he  explains  them,  deserve 
serious  respect.  As  Bacon  felicitously  says,  a tortoise  on 
the  right  path  will  beat  a racer  on  the  wrong  path  ; and  if  it 
be  true  that  Goethe  was  on  the  wrong  path,  it  is  not  less 
true  that  he  shows  the  thews  and  sinews  of  a racer. 

It  is  with  other  feelings  that  we  contemplate  him  laboring 
in  the  organic  sciences.  There  the  native  tendencies  of  his 
mind  and  the  acquired  tendencies  of  education  better  fitted 
him  for  success.  Biology  has  peculiar  fascinations  for  the 
poetical  mind,  and  has  seduced  several  poets  to  become 
physiologists.  Mathematics  are  not  required.  Concrete 
observations  furnish  the  materials  for  a keen  and  compre- 
hensive comparison. 

Let  it  be  distinctly  understood,  and  that  not  on  the  testi- 
mony of  the  admiring  biographer,  but  on  some  of  the  highest 
scientific  testimonies  in  Europe,*  that  in  the  organic  sciences 

* In  the  first  edition  of  this  work  several  passages  were  quoted  in  sup- 
port of  the  assertion  in  the  text ; but  one  effect  of  this  chapter  has  been 


1788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


29  7 


Goethe  holds  an  eminent  place,  — eminent  not  because  of 
his  rank  as  a poet,  but  in  spite  of  it.  Let  it  be  understood 
that  in  these  sciences  he  is  not  to  be  treated  as. a poet,  a 
facile  amateur,  but  as  a thinker , who,  having  mastered  suffi- 
cient knowledge  to  render  his  path  secure,  gave  an  impulse 
to  the  minds  of  contemporaries  and  successors,  which  is  not 
even  yet  arrested. 

We  will  glance  at  his  achievements  in  this  field.  The  in- 
termaxillary bone*  was  long  a bone  of  contention  among 
anatomists.  Vesalius  — one  of  the  grandest  and  boldest  of 
the  early  pioneers  who  wrote  against  Galen,  as  the  philosophers 
wrote  against  Aristotle  — declared,  and  with  justice,  that 

Galen’s  anatomy  was  not  founded  on  the  dissection  of  the 

• 

human  body,  but  on  that  of  animals.  A proof,  said  he,  is  that 
“ Galen  indicates  a separate  bone  connected  with  the  maxil- 
lary by  sutures ; a bone  which,  as  every  anatomist  can 
satisfy  himself,  exists  only  in  animals.”  The  Galenists 
were  in  arms.  They  could  bring  no  fact  in  evidence,  but 
that  was  of  very  little  consequence  ; if  facts  were  deficient, 
was  not  hypothesis  always  ready?  Sylvius,  for  example, 

to  render  such  evidence  superfluous,  Goethe’s  position  in  science  becom- 
ing daily  more  widely  recognized.  The  following  references  are  therefore 
all  that  need  now  be  given  : Auguste  St.  Hilaire,  Morphologie  Vegi- 
tale , I.  p.  15  ; Oscar  Schmidt,  Goethe's  Verhdltniss  zu  den  organischen 
Wissenschaften,  p.  10;  Johannes  Mueller,  Ueher  phantastische 
Gesichtserscheinungen,  p.  104;  CUVIER,  Histoire  des  Sciences  Natu- 
relles , IV.  p.  316;  Isidore  Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire,  Essais  de  Zoolo - 
gie  generate,  p.  139  ; Owen,  Archetype  and  Homologies  of  the  Skeleton , 
p.  3 ; Helmholtz,  Allgemeine  Monatsschrift , May,  1853  ; Virchow, 
Goethe  als  Naturforscher.  The  profound  reach  of  Goethe  s biological 
conceptions  has  been  well  displayed  by  Mr.  Darwin’s  brilliant  disciple, 
Haeckel,  in  his  two  works,  Generelle  Morphologie  and  Natiirliche 
Schopfungsgeschichte. 

* It  is  the  centre  bone  of  the  upper  jaw,  — that  which  contains  the 
incisor  teeth. 

13* 


298 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


boldly  said  that  man  had formerly  an  intermaxillary  bone.  If 
he  has  it  no  longer,  he  ought  to  have  it.  It  is  luxury,  it  is 
sensuality  which  has  gradually  deprived  man  of  this  bone.* 
(What  has  not  luxury  been  made  to  answer  for !)  The  dis- 
pute was  carried  down  through  centuries,  no  one  attempting 
to  demonstrate  anatomically  the  existence  of  the  bone. 
Camper  actually  raised  this  presumed  absence  of  the  bone 
into  the  one  distinguishing  mark  separating  man  from  the 
ape  ; which  is  doubly  unfortunate,  for  in  the  first  place  the 
bone  is  not  absent  in  man,  and  secondly,  in  as  far  as  it  can 
be  considered  absent  in  man,  it  is  equally  absent  in  the 
chimpanzee,  the  highest  of  the  apes.f  Thus  was  anatomy  a 
treacherous  ally  in  this  question,  although  Camper  knew 
not  how  treacherous. 

This  slight  historical  sketch  will  serve  to  show  that  the  dis- 
covery, if  unimportant,  was  at  least  far  from  easy ; indeed  so 
little  did  it  lie  in  the  track  of  general  knowledge,  that  it  was 
at  first  received  with  contemptuous  disbelief,  even  by  men  so 
eminent  as  Blumenbach,J  and  it  was  forty  years  gaining 
general  acceptance,  although  Loder,  Spix,  and  Sommering  at 
once  recognized  it.  Camper,  to  whom  Goethe  sent  the 
manuscript,  found  that  it  was  ires  elegant,  admirablement  bien 
ecrit , c'est  a dire  d'  une  main  admirable , but  thought  a better 

* This  same  Sylvius  it  was  who  replied  to  Vesalius  that  Galen  was  not 
wrong  when  he  described  man  as  having  seven  bones  in  his  sternum 
(there  are  only  three).  “For,”  said  he,  “in  ancient  times  the  robust 
chests  of  heroes  might  very  well  have  had  more  bones  than  our  degen- 
erate day  can  boast.”  It  is  impossible  to  decide  upon  what  might  have 
been  ; but  the  mummies  are  ancient  enough,  and  they  have  no  more 
bones  than  we. 

t Blumenbach  had  already  noted  that  in  some  young  apes  and  baboons 
no  trace  was  discoverable  of  the  bone. 

| See  his  Comparative  Anatomy , translated  by  Lawrence  ; and  the 
translator’s  note,  p.  60. 


1788  ] THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


299 


Latin  style  desirable.  Goethe  began  to  despise  the  pedantry 
of  professional  men  who  would  deny  the  testimony  of  their 
five  senses  in  favor  of  an  old  doctrine  ; and  he  admirably 
says,  “ The  phrases  men  are  accustomed  to  repeat  incessantly 
end  by  becoming  convictions,  and  ossify  the  organs  of  intelli- 
gencer * 

The  most  remarkable  point  in  this  discovery  is  less  the 
discovery  than  the  Method  which  led  to  it.  The  intermaxil- 
lary bone  in  animals  contains  the  incisor  teeth.  Man  has 
incisor  teeth  ; and  Goethe,  fully  impressed  with  the  conviction 
that  there  was  Unity  in  Nature,  boldly  said,  if  man  has  the 
teeth  in  common  with  animals,  he  must  have  the  bone  in 
common  with  animals.  Anatomists,  lost  in  details>  and 
wanting  that  fundamental  conception  which,  now  underlies  all 
philosophical  anatomy,  saw  no  abstract  necessity  for  such 
identity  of  composition  ; the  more  so,  because  evide?ice  seemed 
wholly  against  it.  But  Goethe  was  not  only  guided  by  the 
true  philosophic  conception,  he  was  also  instinctively  led  to 
the  true  Method  of  demonstration,  namely,  Comparison  of 
the  various  modifications  which  this  bone  underwent  in  the 
animal  series.  This  Method  has  now  become  the  Method ; 

* Since  the  first  edition  of  this  work  was  published,  I have  met  with 
a piquant  illustration  of  the  not  very  honorable  tendency  in  men  to 
plume  themselves  on  the  knowledge  of  a discovery  which  they  had  for- 
merly rejected.  ViCQ  d’Azyr,  Discours  sur  V Anatomie  ( CEuvres , IV. 
159),  mentioning  his  discovery  of  the  intermaxillary,  adds,  “ J’ai  appris 
de  M.  Camper,  dans  son  dernier  voyage  a Paris,  que  cet  os  lui  est  connu 
depuis  tres  long  temps  P Now  this  same  Camper,  on  receiving  the  anon- 
ymous dissertation  in  which  Goethe  propounded  the  discovery,  said, 
“ Je  dois  re-examiner  tout  cela  ” ; but  on  learning  that  Goethe  was  the 
author,  he  wrote  to  Merck  that  he  had  “ convinced  himself  that  the  bone 
did  not  exist”  (see  Virchow,  Goethe  als  Naturforscher , p.  79) ; yet  no 
sooner  does  a great  anatomist  tell  him  that  the  bone  exists  than  he  com- 
placently declares,  “ I have  known  it  a long  while.’* 


300 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


and  we  require  to  throw  ourselves  into  the  historical  position 
to  appreciate  its  novelty,  at  the  time  he  employed  it.  He 
found  on  comparison  that  the  bone  varied  with  the  nutrition 
of  the  animal,  and  the  size  of  its  teeth.  He  found,  moreover, 
that  in  some  animals  the  bone  was  not  separated  from  the 
jaw ; and  that  in  children  the  sutures  were  traceable.  He 
admitted  that,  seen  from  the  front,  no  trace  of  the  sutures 
was  visible,  but  on  the  interior  there  were  unmistakable 
traces.  Examination  of  the  foetal  skull  has  since  set  the  point 
beyond  dispute.  I have  seen  one  where  the  bone  was-  dis- 
tinctly separated ; and  I possess  a skull,  the  ossification  of 
which  is  far  advanced  at  the  parietal  sutures,  yet  internally 
faint  traces  of  the  intermaxillary  are  visible.* 

Goethe  made  his  discovery  in  1784,  and  communicated  it 
to  several  anatomists.  Loder  mentions  it  in  his  Compendium 
in  1787. 

Respecting  Goethe’s  claim  to  the  honor  of  this  discovery, 
I have  recently  ascertained  a fact  which  is  of  great  or  small 
significance  according  to  the  views  we  hold  respecting  such 
claims ; namely,  whether  the  clear  enunciation  of  an  idea, 
though  never  carried  out  in  detail,  suffices  to  give  priority ; 
or  whether,  in  the  words  of  Owen,t  “ he  becomes  the  true 
discoverer  who  establishes  the  truth,  and  the  sign  of  the  proof 
is  the  general  acceptance.  Whoever,  therefore,  resumes  the 
investigation  of  a neglected  or  repudiated  doctrine,  elicits  its 
true  demonstration,  and  discovers  and  explains  the  nature  of 
the  errors  which  have  led  to  its  tacit  or  declared  rejection,  may 

* These  might  be  considered  abnormal  cases.  But  M.  J.  Weber  has 
devised  a method  of  treating  the  skull  with  dilute  nitric  acid,  which 
makes  the  separation  of  the  bones  perfect. — Froriep's  Notizeny  1828,  bd. 
19,  282.  Virchow,  1.  c.,  p.  80. 

t Owen,  Homologies  of  the  Skeleton , p.  76.  Comp,  also  Malpighi, 
Opera  Posthuma , 1697,  p.  5* 


788  ] THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE . 


301 


calmly  and  confidently  await  the  acknowledgments  of  his 
rights  in  its  discovery.”  If  we  hold  the  former  view,  we  must 
assign  the  discovery  of  the  intermaxillary  in  man  to  Vicq 
d’Azyr  ; if  we  hold  the  latter,  to  Goethe.  In  the  Traiti 
d' Anatomie et  de  Physio logie,  which  the  brilliant  anatomist  pub- 
lished in  1786,  we  not  only  find  him  insisting  on  the  then 
novel  idea  of  an  uniform  plan  in  the  structure  of  organic 
beings,  according  to  which  nature  “ semble  operer  toujours 
d’aprbs  un  modele  primitif  et  general,  dont  elle  ne  s’ecarte 
qu’&  regret  et  dont  on  recontre  partout  des  traces  ” ; * but  we 
find  this  explicit  illustration  given  among  others  : “ Peut-on 
s’y  refuser  enfin  ” (i.  e.  to  admit  the  traces  of  a general  plan) 
“ en  comparant  les  os  maxillaires  anterieurs  que  j’appelle 
incisifs  dans  les  quadrupedes,  avec  cette  pibce  osseuse  qui 
soutient  les  dents  incisives  superieures  dans  l’homme,  ou  elle 
est  separee  de  l’os  maxillaire  par  une  petite  felure  tres  remar- 
quable  dans  les  foetus,  a peine  visible  dans  les  adultes,  et  dont 
personne  n’avoit  connu  l’usage  ? ” In  a subsequent  passage 
of  the  second  Discours  he  says  : “ Toutes  ces  dents  sont 
soutenues  dans  la  machoire  anterieure  par  un  os  que  j’ai 
decrit  sous  le  nom  d’incisif  ou  labial,  que  quelques-uns  ap- 
pellent  intermaxillaire,  que  Ton  h ddcouvert  depuis  peu  dans 
les  morses,  et  dont  fat  reconnu  les  traces  dans  les  os  maxil- 
laires superieurs  du  foetus  humainP  f 

The  reader  will  remark  that  this  is  no*t  simply  the  announce- 
ment of  the  fact,  but  is  adduced  in  illustration  of  the  very 
same  doctrine  which  Goethe  invoked.  The  Traite  d' Ana- 
tomie, as  we  have  seen,  was  published  in  1786  ; that  is  to  say, 
two  years  after  Goethe  had  made  his  discovery;  and  Sommer- 
ing,  in  writing  to  Merck,  J says  : “ I have  expressed  my  opin- 

* Vicq  d’Azyr,  (Euvres , IV.  p.  26.  The  work  is  there  called  Dis- 
cours sur  V Anatomie. 

t Ibid-,  p.  159. 


t Briefe  an  Merck , p.  493. 


302 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE' S LIFE.  [book  v. 


ion  on  Vicq  d’Azyr’s  work  the  Gotting.  Gelehrt.  Anzeig.  It 
is  the  best  we  have.  But  as  far  as  the  work  has  yet  gone, 
Goethe  is  not  mentioned  in  it.”  From  which  it  may  be 
inferred  that  Sommering  supposed  Vicq  d’Azyr  to  have  been 
acquainted  with  Goethe’s  contemporary  labors ; but  against 
such  a supposition  we  must  remember  that,  if  Germany  took 
note  of  what  was  passing  in  France,  discoveries  made  in 
Germany  travelled  with  great  slowness  across  the  Rhine ; and 
in  illustration  of  this  slowness  we  may  note  that  Geoffroy  St. 
Hilaire,  who  was  several  years  afterwards  nobly  working  out 
conceptions  of  Philosophical  Anatomy  in  a spirit  identical 
with  that  of  Goethe,  was  utterly  unconscious  of  the  existence 
of  a predecessor,  and  noticing  the  monograph  of  G.  Fischer, 
said,  “ Goethes  aurait  le  premier  decouvert  l’interparie'tal  dans 
quelques  rongeurs,  et  se  serait  contente  d’en  faire  mention 
par  une  note  manuscrite  sur  un  exemplaire  d’un  traite  d’ana- 
tomie  comparee.”  * 

But  the  conclusive  point  is  this : although  the  Traite  (V Ana- 
tomie  did  not  appear  till  1786,  the  discovery  of  the  intermax- 
illary was  published  by  Vicq  d’Azyr  in  the  Academie  des 
Sciences  for  1779,1*  five  years  before  Goethe  announced  his 
discovery  to  Herder.  The  question  of  priority  is  therefore 
settled.  The  Frenchman  had  no  need  of  any  acquaintance 
with  what  the  German  poet  had  worked  out;  and  Merck’s 
astonishment  at  finding  Goethe’s  “ so-called  discovery  ac- 
cepted by  Vicq  d’Azyr  ” was  wholly  misplaced ; but  can  we 

* Philosophic  Anatomique , II.  p.  55.  Geoffroy  was  afterwards  very 
proud  to  have  the  suffrage  of  Goethes ; and  Geoffroy’s  son  has  spoken 
most  honorably  of  the  coincidence  between  the  speculations  of  his 
father  and  those  of  the  poet. 

t In  the  first  edition  I stated  that  “ from  a note  to  Blumenbach’s 
Comparative  Anatomy  (p.  19),  it  seems  as  if  Vicq  d’Azyr  had  made 
this  observation  as  early  as  1780.”  The  date  in  the  text  is  given  by 
Vicq  d’Azyr  himself.  — CEuvres,  IV.  159. 


1788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


303 


be  equally  sure  that  Goethe  was  altogether  ignorant  of 
his  predecessor  ? I think  he  was.  The  sudden  enthusi- 
asm, the  laborious  investigation,  the  jubilate  of  triumph,  are 
evidences  that  if  ever  his  predecessor’s  discovery  had  come 
under  his  notice  (which  is  highly  improbable),  it  was  com- 
pletely forgotten  ; and-  we  may  judge  how  completely  Vicq 
d’Azyr’s  announcement  had  been  without  echo  in  the  scientific 
world,  from  the  fact  that  the  three  most  illustrious  men  of  the 
day,  Camper,  Blumenbach,  and  Sommering  knew  nothing  of 
it,  and  denied  the  existence  of  the  bone  Goethe  claimed  to 
have  discovered.  Thus,  in  assigning  priority  to  Vicq  d’Azyr, 
we  by  no  means  diminish  Goethe’s  merit.  He  it  was  who 
thoroughly  worked  out  the  discovery ; he  it  was  who  gave  it  a 
fixed  and  definite  place  in  science ; he  it  is  who  is  always 
named  as  the  discoverer. 

The  only  importance  of  this  discovery  is  the  philosophic 
Method  which  it  illustrates ; the  firm  belief  it  implies  that  all 
organisms  are  constructed  on  an  uniform  plan,  and  that 
Comparative  Anatomy  is  only  valid  because  such  a plan  is 
traceable.  In  our  day  it  seems  an  easy  conception.  We  are 
so  accustomed  to  consider  all  the  variations  in  organic  struct- 
ures as  modifications  of  a type,  that  we  can  hardly  realize  to 
ourselves  any  other  conception.  That  it  was  by  no  means  an 
obvious  idea,  nor  one  easy  to  apply,  may  be  seen  in  two  bril- 
liant applications — the  metamorphosis  of  plants,  and  the 
vertebral  theory  of  the  skull. 

Place  a flower  in  the  hands  of  the  cleverest  man  of  your 
acquaintance,  providing  always  he  has  not  read  modern 
works  of  science,  and  assure  him  that  leaf,  calyx,  corolla,  bud, 
pistil,  and  stamen,  differing  as  they  do  in  color  and  in  form, 
are  nevertheless  all  modified  leaves ; assure  him  that  flower 
and  fruit  are  but  modifications  of  one  typical  form,  which  is 
the  leaf ; and  if  he  has  any  confidence  in  your  knowledge  he 


304 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


may  accept  the  statement,  but  assuredly  it  will  seem  to  him 
a most  incomprehensible  paradox.  Place  him  before  a 
human  skeleton,  and,  calling  his  attention  to  its  manifold 
forms,  assure  him  that  every  bone  is  either  a vertebra,  or  the 
appendage  to  a vertebra,  and  that  the  skull  is  a congeries  of 
vertebrae  under  various  modifications ; he  will,  as  before, 
accept  your  statement,  perhaps  ; but  he  will,  as  before,  think 
it  one  of  the  refinements  of  transcendental  speculation  to  be 
arrived  at  only  by  philosophers.  Yet  both  of  these  astound- 
ing propositions  are  first  principles  in  Morphology ; and  in 
the  History  of  Science  both  of  these  propositions  are  to  be 
traced  to  Goethe.  Botanists  and  anatomists  have,  of  course, 
greatly  modified  the  views  he  promulgated,  and  have  substi- 
tuted views  nearer  and  nearer  the  truth,  without  yet  being 
quite  at  one.  But  he  gave  the  impulse  to  their  efforts. 

While  botanists  and  anatomists  were  occupied  in  analysis, 
striving  to  distinguish  separate  parts,  and  give  them  distinct 
names,  his  poetical  and  philosophic  mind  urged  him  to  seek 
the  supreme  synthesis,  and  reduce  all  diversities  to  a higher 
unity.  In  his  poem  addressed  to  Christiane  he  says  : — 

“ Thou,  my  love,  art  perplexed  with  the  endless  seeming  confusion 
Of  the  luxuriant  wealth  which  in  the  garden  is  spread  ; 

Name  upon  name  thou  hearest,  and  in  thy  dissatisfied  hearing, 

With  a barbarian  noise  one  drives  another  along. 

All  the  forms  resemble,  yet  none  is  the  same  as  another ; 

Thus  the  whole  of  the  throng  points  at  a deep-hidden  law.”* 

To  prove  this  identity  was  no  easy  task.  He  imagined  an 
ideal  typical  plant  (Urfijlanze),  of  which  all  actual  plants 
were  the  manifold  realizations ; and  this  I cannot  but  agree 
with  Schleiden  in  considering  a conception  at  once  mislead- 
ing and  infelicitous.  He  was  happier  in  the  conception  of 
all  the  various  organs  of  the  plant  as  modifications  of  one 

* Whewell’s  translation,  Hist.  Inductive  Sciences,  III.  360. 


788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


305 


fundamental  type;  this  type  he  names  the  Leaf.  Not  that 
we  are  to  understand  the  metamorphosis  of  plants  to  be  anal- 
ogous to  the  metamorphosis  of  animals  (an  error  into  which 
I fell  in  my  first  edition,  as  Ferdinand  Cohn  properly  points 
out),  nor  indeed  is  it  such  a metamorphosis  at  all.  The 
pistil  and  petal  are  not  first  developed  into  leaves,  and  from 
these  leaves  changed  into  petal  and  pistil ; as  a caterpillar 
develops  into  a grub,  and  the  grub  into  a butterfly.  This 
would  be  metamorphosis.  Instead  of  this  we  must  conceive 
the  whole  plant  as  a succession  of  repetitions  of  the  original 
type  variously  modified  ; in  some  of  these  repetitions  the 
modification  has  been  slight,  in  others  considerable.  The 
two  typical  forms  are  stem  and  leaf.  From  the  seed  there  is 
an  ascending  and  a descending  axis,  formed  of  a succession 
of  stems  : the  ascending  axis  is  called  the  aerial  stem  ; the 
descending  axis  is  the  root.  From  both  of  these  stems  lat- 
eral stems  or  branches  are  given  off;  and  from  these  again 
others.  The  Leaf  is  the  second  type  : it  forms  all  the  other 
organs  by  various  modifications.  Widely  as  a pistil  differs 
from  a petal,  and  both  from  an  ordinary  leaf,  they  are  dis- 
closed as  identical  by  the  history  of  their  development. 

It  is  impossible  to  be  even  superficially  acquainted  with 
biological  speculations,  and  not  to  recognize  the  immense 
importance  of  the  recognition  of  a Type.  As  Helmholtz 
truly  observes,  “ The  labors  of  botanists  and  zoologists  did 
little  more  than  collect  materials,  nntil  they  learned  to  dis- 
pose them  in  such  a series  that  the  laws  of  dependence  and 
a generalized  type  could  be  elicited.  Here  the  great  mind 
of  our  poet  found  a field  suited  to  it ; and  the  time  was 
favorable.  Enough  material  had  been  collected  in  botany 
and  comparative  anatomy  for  a clear  survey  to  be  taken  ; and 
although  his  contemporaries  all  wandered  without  a com- 
pass, or  contented  themselves  with  a dry  registration  of  facts, 


T 


30  6 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


he  was  able  to  introduce  into  science  two  leading  ideas  of 
infinite  fruitfulness.” 

And  here  the  question  presents  itself : Is  Goethe  right- 
fully entitled  to  the  honor  universally  awarded  to  him  of 
having  founded  the  Morphology  of  Plants  ? We  must  again 
evoke  the  distinction  previously  stated  (p.  300).  No  one 
denies  that  the  doctrine  was  so  entirely  novel  that  most 
botanists  at  first  rejected  it  with  contempt,  and  only  con- 
sented to  accept  it  when  some  eminent  botanists  had  shown 
it  to  be  true.  No  one  denies  that  Goethe  worked  it  out ; if 
any  predecessor  had  conceived  the  idea,  no  one  had  carried 
the  idea  into  its  manifold  applications.  But  he  has  himself 
named  Linnaeus  and  Wolff  as  his  precursors;  and  it  is  of 
some  interest  to  ascertain  in  what  degree  these  percursors 
have  claim  to  the  honor  of  the  discovery. 

It  has  been  remarked  by  the  eminent  botanist  Ferdinand 
Cohn,*  that  the  great  Linnaeus  mingled  with  his  observation 
much  fantastic  error,  which  the  poet  Goethe  was  the  first  to 
eliminate.  But  Dr.  Hooker,  while  admitting  the  metaphysi- 
cal and  speculative  matter  which  Linnaeus  has  mixed  up  with 
his  statements,  is  disposed  to  value  them  highly. 

The  aper$u  was  in  Linnaeus  : a spark  awaiting  the  pres- 
ence of  some  inflammable  imagination ; and  when  we 
remember  how  fond  Goethe  was  of  Linnaeus,  we  can  hardly 
suppose  that  this  aper$u  had  not  more  than  once  flashed 
across  his  mind  as  a gleam  of  the  truth.  With  regard  to 
Caspar  Friedrich  Wolff,  the  evidence  is  far  from  satisfactory. 
It  is  certain  that  Wolff  in  his  immortal  work  on  “ Genera- 
tion ” had  clearly  grasped  the  morphological  principles,  and 
had  left  Goethe  very  little  to  add  to  them.  But  it  is  very 
uncertain  whether  Goethe  had  ever  read  Wolff.  Some  years 

* Goethe  und  die  Metamorphosen  der  Pflanzen , in  the  Deutsches  Mu - 
seum  of  Prutz,  IV.  Jan.,  1862. 


1 783.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


307 


after  the  publication  of  his  work  he  mentions  with  pride  the 
fact  of  Wolff  having  been  his  “ admirable  precursor,”  and 
says  that  his  attention  to  the  work  had  been  drawn  by  a 
namesake  of  the  great  embryologist.  It  was  with  no  little 
surprise,  therefore,  that  I read  in  Diintzer*  the  unhesitating 
assertion  that  in  1785  Herder  had  made  Goethe  a present  of 
Wolff’s  Theoria  Generationis,  which  contained  a rough  out- 
line of  several  of  Goethe’s  favorite  ideas.  If  this  statement 
were  correct,  Goethe  would  be  under  serious  suspicion ; but 
it  is  not  correct.  On  referring  to  the  passage  in  Herder’s 
letter  to  Knebel,  which  Diintzer  pretends  is  the  authority 
for  this  statement,  I find,  in  the  first  place,  that  Herder  does 
not  specify  the  Theoria  Generationis,  nor,  indeed,  can  we  be 
sure  he  refers  to  C.  F.  Wolff  at  all ; he  merely  says,  “ Wolff,” 
which  is  a common  name  among  German  authors ; in  the 
second  place  he  does  not  say  that  he  has  given  the  book  to 
Goethe,  but  that  he  intends  doing  so  when  he  can  get  a 
copy;  meanwhile  Knebel  is  not  to  mention  the  book  to 
Goethe.  And  out  of  such  a sentence  as  this,  Diintzer  has 
constructed  a “ fact,”  which,  while  it  gives  his  pedantry  the 
small  delight  of  correcting  in  a foot-note  Goethe’s  assertion 
that  F.  A.  Wolff  directed  his  attention  to  the  Theoria  Gene- 
rationis, lays  Goethe  open  to  the  charges  of  having  bor- 
rowed his  morphology  from  Wolff,  of  having  concealed  the 
fact,  and  of  having  pretended  never  to  have  seen  his  pred- 
ecessor’s work  until  his  attention  was  directed  to  it  some 
years  afterwards.  Against  such  charges  the  following  argu- 
ments may  be  urged.  First,  there  is  Goethe’s  own  explicit 
statement ; and  his  veracity  is  not  lightly  to  be  questioned. 
Secondly,  if  the  work  referred  to  by  Herder  was  the  Theoria 
Generationis  (which  is  probable,  but  not  certain),  and  if  it 
was  given  as  intended  (also  probable,  but  not  certain), we 

* Goethe  und  Karl  August , 1861,  p.  212. 


308 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


have  no  evidence  that  Goethe  read  it.  Thirdly,  and  conclu- 
sively, the  date  of  the  very  letter  in  which  Herder  mentions 
his  intention  is  ten  years  later  (1795)  than  Diintzer  would 
have  us  suppose  ; and  is  thus  five  years  after  the  publication 
of  Goethe’s  views  (1790).* 

The  Metamorphosen  was  published  in  1790.  In  1817 
Goethe  says  that  he  had  requested  his  scientific  friends  to 
make  notes  of  any  passages  they  might  meet  in  earlier  writers 
relative  to  the  topic  he  had  treated,  because  he  was  convinced 
that  in  science  there  was  nothing  absolutely  new.  His  friend 
F.  A.  Wolff  directed  him  to  Caspar  Friedrich.  In  expressing 
his  admiration  for  his  great  predecessor,  he  is  proud  to  ac- 
knowledge how  much  he  has  learned  from  him  during  five-and- 
twenty  years.  Now,  five-and-twenty  years  from  1817  brings 
us  back  to  1792, — that  is  to  say,  two  years  after  the  publica- 
tion of  the  Metamorphose n,  and  three  years  before  the  letter 
written  by  Herder,  t So  that  if  we  assume  the  work  in  ques- 
ion  to  have  been  the  Theoria  Generations,  Goethe  was  per- 
fectly correct  in  mentioning  F.  A.  Wolff,  and  not  Herder,  as 
the  friend  to  whom  he  was  first  indebted  for  a knowledge  of 
its  existence. 

^The  tone  in  which  Goethe  speaks  of  Caspar  Friedrich 
Wolff  is  assuredly  not  that  of  a man  who  had  any  obligations 
to  conceal  ; but,  of  a man  who,  recognizing  a precursor 
with  pleasure,  speaks  of  the  two  theories  as  two  independent 
modes  of  conceiving  the  phenomena,  the  theory  of  his  pre- 
cursor being  pre-eminently  physiological,  while  his  own  was 
pre-eminently  morphological. 

* See  Knebel,  Hachlass,  II.  268. 

t It  should  be  added  that  Knebel’s  editors  place  a (?)  after  the  date  1795. 
But  we  have  no  reason  to  suppose  they  could  err  by  ten  years  in  assigning 
this  letter  its  place  ; Diintzer  professes  no  doubt  as  to  the  accuracy  of  the 
date  ; and  internal  evidence,  taken  with  what  is  said  above,  renders  it 
highly  probable  that  1795  is  very  little  removed  from  the  correct  date. 


1738.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


309 


With  regard  both  to  Linnaeus  and  Wolff,  it  may  be  said  that 
they  anticipated  the  morphology  of  plants,  but  that  to  Goethe 
belongs  the  credit  of  establishing  it.  We  do  not  take  from 
the  credit  of  Columbus  by  showing  that,  five  centuries  before 
he  discovered  the  New  World,  Scandinavian  voyagers  had  re- 
peatedly touched  on  those  shores ; nor  do  we  diminish  the 
value  of  Goethe’s  contribution  to  Science,  by  showing  that 
before  him  Wolff  had  perceived  the  identity  of  the  various 
organs  of  the  plant.  It  was  not  the  purpose  of  the  Scandi- 
navians to  discover  the  New  World.  They  did  not  make 
their  discovery  a possession  for  mankind.  Neither  was  it 
Wolff’s  purpose  to  create  a new  theory  in  Botany.  He  dis- 
covered a process  of  nature  while  he  was  seeking  the  laws  of 
Epigenesis,  and  he  only  used  his  discovery  as  one  of  several 
illustrations.  Columbus  set  out  with  the  distinct  purpose  of 
discovery,  and  made  his  discovery  a possession  for  all  time. 
So  also  Goethe  set  out  with  the  distinct  purpose,  and  Bota- 
nists justly  declare  that  to  his  work  they  owe  the  idea  of 
plant  metamorphosis. 

Whatever  may  be  the  final  decision  upon  the  Metamor- 
phoses of  Plants,  there  must  ever  remain  the  great  and  unique 
glory  of  a poet  having  created  a new  branch  of  science,  and 
by  means  as  legitimately  scientific  as  those  of  any  other 
creation.  Morphology  now  counts  among  its  students  illus- 
trious names,  and  crowds  of  workers.  And  this  science  we 
owe  to  the  author  of  Faust.  Nor  is  this  all.  He  has  priority 
in  some  of  the  most  luminous  and  comprehensive  ideas  which 
are  now  guiding  philosophic  speculation  on  the  science  of 
life. 

Let  me  repeat,  as  a matter  of  justice,  and  not  to  allow  the 
high  praise  bestowed  on  Goethe’s  efforts  to  mislead  the  reader’s 
expectation,  that  the  merit  is  that  of  a thinker  in  science , not 
the  merit  of  an  industrious  discoverer  and  collector  of  details.  ) 


3io 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


His  great  effort  was  to  create  a Method,  to  establish  principles 
upon  which  the  science  could  be  founded. 

As  a thinker  in  Science  Goethe  was  truly  remarkable,  and 
as  a worker  not  contemptible.  To  prove  how  far  he  was  in 
advance  of  his  age  we  have  only  to  cite  a single  passage, 
which,  in  its  aphoristic,  pregnant  style,  contains  the  clear  an- 
nouncement of  biological  laws,  which  have  since  been  named 
among  the  glories  of  Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire,  Von  Baer,  Milne- 
Ed wards,  Cuvier,  and  Lamarck  : — 

“ Every  living  being  is  not  a unity  but  a plurality.  Even 
when  it  appears  as  an  individual,  it  is  the  reunion  of  beings 
living  and  existing  in  themselves,  identical  in  origin,  but 
which  may  appear  identical  or  similar,  different  or  dissimilar. 

“ The  more  imperfect  a being  is  the  more  do  its  individual 
parts  resemble  each  other , and  the  more  do  these  parts  resemble 
the  whole.  The  more  perfect  the  being  is  the  more  dissimilar 
are  its  parts.  In  the  former  case  the  parts  are  more  or  less  a 
repetition  of  the  whole  : in  the  latter  case  they  are  totally  un- 
like the  whole. 

“ The  more  the  parts  resemble  each  other,  the  less  subordi- 
nation is  there  of  one  to  the  other.  Subordinatio?i  of  parts 
indicates  high  grade  of  organization .”  * 

To  illustrate  by  familiar  examples.  Take  a polyp  and  cut 
it  into  several  pieces  ; each  piece  will  live  and  manifest  all 
those  phenomena  of  nutrition  and  sensibility  which  the  whole 
polyp  manifested.  Turn  it  inside  out  like  a glove,  the  inter- 
nal part  becomes  its  skin,  the  external  part  becomes  its 
stomach.  The  reason  is,  that  in  the  simple  structure  of  the 
polyp,  the  parts  resemble  each  other  and  resemble  the  whole. 
There  is  no  individual  organ,  or  apparatus  of  organs,  per- 
forming one  function,  such  as  nutrition,  and  nothing  else. 
Every  function  is  performed  by  every  part ; just  as  in  savage 

* Zur  Morphologie,  1807  (written  in  1795),  Werke , XXXVI.  p.  7. 


1788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


31 1 

societies,  every  man  is  his  own  tailor,  his  own  armorer,  his 
own  cook,  and  his  own  policeman.  But  take  an  animal 
higher  in  the  scale,  and  there  you  find  the  structure  composed 
of  dissimilar  parts,  and  each  part  having  a different  office. 
That  animal  cannot  be  hewn  in  pieces  and  each  piece  continue 
to  live  as  before.  That  animal  cannot  have  its  skin  suddenly 
turned  into  a stomach.  That  animal,  in  the  social  body, 
cannot  make  his  own  clothes  or  his  own  musket ; the  division 
of  labor  which  has  accompanied  his  higher  condition  has 
robbed  him  of  his  universal  dexterity. 

The  law  invoked  by  Goethe  is  now  to  be  met  with  in  every 
philosophic  work  on  zoology.  One  form  of  it  is  known  in 
England  as  Von  Baer’s  law,  viz.  that  Development  proceeds 
from  the  Like  to  the  Unlike,  from  the  General  to  the  Partic- 
ular, from  the  Homogeneous  to  the  Heterogeneous.  I have 
too  profound  an  admiration  for  Von  Baer  to  wish  in  any  way 
to  diminish  his  splendid  claims,  but  I cannot  help  remarking 
that  when  writers  attribute  to  him  the  merit  of  having  dis- 
covered this  law,  they  are  in  direct  contradiction  with  Von 
Baer  himself,  who  not  only  makes  no  such  claim,  but  in 
giving  the  formula  adds,  “this  law  of  development  has  indeed 
never  been  overlooked.”*  His  merit  is  the  splendid  applica- 
tion and  demonstration  of  the  law,  not  the  first  perception 
of  it. 

It  is  generally  known  that  the  law  of  “ division  of  labor  in 
the  animal  organism  ” is  claimed  by  Milne-Edwards,  the  great 
French  zoologist,  as  a discovery  of  his  own.  Yet  we  see  how 

* “Dieses  Gesetz  der  Ausbildung  ist  wohl  nfe  verkannt  worden.”  — 
Zur  Entwickelungsgeschichte.  Erster  Theil,  p.  153.  Among  others, 
Wolff  has  clearly  stated  it.  Theorie  von  der  Generation , § 28,  p.  163. 
See  also  Meckel,  Traiti  d' A natomie  Compart  e,  French  trans.  I.  297. 
Buffon  also  says  : “ Un  corps  organise,  dont  toutes  les  parties  seraient 
semblables  a lui-meme,  est  la  plus  simple,  car  ce  n’est  que  la  repetition 
de  la  meme  forme.”  — Hist  Nat.,  1749,  II.  47. 


312 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


clearly  it  is  expressed  in  Goethe’s  formula.  And  with  even 
more  clearness  do  we  see  expressed  Cuvier’s  principle  of 
classification,  viz.  the  subordination  of  parts.  I do  not  wish 
to  press  this  point  further,  nor  do.  I wish  that  these  great  men 
should  be  robbed  of  any  merit  in  order  to  glorify  Goethe  with 
their  trophies.  The  student  of  history  knows  how  discoveries 
are,  properly  speaking,  made  by  the  Age,  and  not  by  men. 
He  knows  that  all  discoveries  have  had  their  anticipations ; 
and  that  the  world  justly  credits  the  man  who  makes  the 
discovery  available , not  the  man  who  simply  perceived  that  it 
was  possible.  I am  not  here  writing  the  history  of  science, 
but  the  biography  of  Goethe ; and  the  purpose  of  these  cita- 
tions is  to  show  that  he  placed  himself  at  the  highest  point  of 
view  possible  to  his  age,  and  that  as  a thinker  he  thought  the 
thoughts  which  the  greatest  men  have  subsequently  made 
popular. 

Observe,  moreover,  that  Goethe’s  anticipation  is  not  of 
that  slight  and  fallacious  order  which,  like  so  many  other 
anticipations,  rests  upon  a vague  or  incidental  phrase.  He 
did  not  simply  attain  an  aper$u  of  the  truth.  He  mastered 
the  law,  and  his  mastery  of  that  law  sprang  from  his  mastery 
of  the  whole  series  of  conceptions  in  which  it  finds  its  place. 
Thus  in  his  “ Introduction  to  Comparative  Anatomy,”  written 
in  1795,  he  pointed  out  the  essentially  sterile  nature  of  the 
comparisons  then  made,  not  only  in  respect  of  comparing 
animals  with  men  and  with  each  other,  not  only  in  the  abuse 
of  final  causes,  but  also  in  taking  man  as  the  standard,  instead 
of  commencing  with  the  simplest  organisms  and  rising  grad- 
ually upwards.  One  year  after  this,  Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire 
ignorant  of  what  was  passing  in  the  study  at  Weimar  and  in 
the  Museum  at  Jena,  published  his  Dissertation  sur  les  Mains , 
wherein  he  began  his  renovation  of  the  science.  He,  too, 
like  Goethe,  was  bent  on  the  creation  of  a Type  according  to 


1788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


313 


which  all  organized  structures  could  be  explained.  This  con- 
ception of  a Type  (. Allgemeines  Bild ),  according  to  which  the 
whole  animal  kingdom  may  be  said  to  be  constructed,  was  a 
truly  scientific  conception,  and  has  borne  noble  fruit.  It  must 
not,  however,  be  confounded  with  a Platonic  Idea.  It  was 
not  metaphysical  entity,  it  was  simply  a scientific  artifice. 
Goethe  expressly  says  that  we  are  not  for  an  instant  to 
believe  in  the  existence  of  this  Type  as  an  objective  reality, 
although  it  is  the  generalized  expression  of  that  which  really 
exists.  This  caution  has  not  been  sufficiently  present  to  the 
minds  of  several  speculators ; and  the  idea  of  a Type  has 
engendered  not  a few  extravagances.  Nevertheless,  the  net 
result  of  these  speculations  has  been  good. 

Fifteen  years  after  Goethe  had  passed  away  from  this 
world,  and  when  therefore  there  was  no  power  of  reply,  Oken 
in  the  Isis  (1847,  Heft  VII.,)  made  an  accusation  against 
Goethe’s  claim  to  the  origination  of  the  vertebral  theory  of  the 
skull.  His  statement  completely  staggered  me,  suggesting 
very  painful  feelings  as  to  Goethe’s  conduct.  Indeed,  the 
similarity  in  the  stories  of  both  suggests  suspicion.  Goethe, 
during  one  of  his  rambles  in  the  Jewish  cemetery  near  Ven- 
ice, noticed  the  skull  of  a ram,  which  had  been  cut  longitu- 
dinally, and  on  examining  it,  the  idea  occurred  to  him  that  the 
face  was  composed  of  three  vertebrae  : “ the  transition  from 
the  anterior  sphenoid  to  the  ethmoid  was  evident  at  once.” 
Now,  compare  Oken’s  story.  He  narrates  how  in  1802,  in  a 
work  on  the  Senses,  he  had  represented  these  organs  as  rep- 
etitions of  lower  organs,  although  he  had  not  then  grasped 
the  idea,  which  lay  so  close  at  hand,  respecting  the  skull  as  a 
repetition  of  the  spinal  column.  In  1806  he  identified  the 
jaws  of  insects  as  limbs  of  the  head ; and  in  1806,  while 
rambling  in  the  Harz  Mountains,  he  picked  up  the  skull  of  a 
deer  : on  examining  it,  he  exclaimed,  <f  That  is  a vertebral 
H 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE. 


[book  V. 


314 

column!”  Virchow  admits  that  the  coincidence  in  the  sto- 
ries is  singular,  but  adds  that  the  discovery  is  just  as  proba- 
ble in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other ; all  that  is  proved  by  the 
coincidence  being  that  both  minds  were  on  the  verge  of  the 
discovery.  Goethe  by  long  physiognomical  and  osteological 
studies  was  prepared  for  the  idea ; and  was  naturally  led 
from  the  Metamorphoses  of  Plants  to  those  of  Insects ; and 
if  Oken  reversed  this  order,  passing  from  insects  to  mam- 
mals, he  was,  nevertheless,  many  years  later  than  Goethe,  as 
dates  unequivocally  prove.  It  is  important  to  bear  in  mind 
that  the  vertebral  theory  is  only  another  application  of  those 
morphological  doctrines  which  Goethe  had  developed  and 
applied  to  plants  ; and  although  it  is  quite  possible  that  he 
might  have  held  these  views  without  making  the  special 
application  to  the  skull,  yet  we  know  as  a fact  that  he  at 
once  saw  how  the  morphological  laws  must  necessarily  apply 
to  animals,  since  he  expressly  states  this  in  announcing  his 
discovery  to  Herder.*  Nay,  he  shortly  afterwards  wrote, 
“ In  Natural  History  I shall  bring  you  what  you  little  expect. 
I believe  myself  to  be  very  near  the  law  of  organization.” 
Still  it  may  be  objected,  This  is  no  proof ; it  only  shows  that 
Goethe  applied  his  doctrines  to  the  animal  organization,  not 
that  he  made  a special  application  to  the  skull.  Even  this 
doubt,  however,  has  been  finally  settled  by  the  recently  pub- 
lished correspondence,  which  gives  us  a letter  from  Goethe 
to  Herders  wife,  dated  4th  May,  1790,  from  Venice. 
“ Through  a singular  and  lucky  accident  I have  been  ena- 
bled to  take  a step  forwards  in  my  explanation  of  the  animal 
development  ( Thierbildung ).  My  servant,  in  jest,  took  up  the 
fragment  of  an  animal’s  skull  from  the  Jewish  cemetery,  pre- 
tending to  offer  it  me  as  a Jewish  skull.”  Now  when  we 
remember  that  Goethe  in  after  years  affirmed  that  it  was  in 


* Italianise  he  Reise , II.  p.  5* 


1788.]  THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


315 


rjgo,  and  in  the  Jewish  cemetery  of  Venice,  that  the  idea  of 
the  vertebral  structure  of  the  skull  flashed  upon  him,  the  evi- 
dence of  this  letter  is  conclusive. 

Oken  declares  he  made  his  discovery  in  1806,  and  that  in 
1807  he  wrote  his  Academic  Programme.  He  was  then  a 
Privat  Docent  in  Gottingen,  “at  a time,  therefore,  when 
Goethe  certainly  knew  nothing  of  my  existence.”  He  sent 
his  dissertation  to  Jena,  where  he  had  just  been  appointed 
professor.  Of  that  university  Goethe  was  curator.  Oken 
considers  this  fact  decisive : namely,  that  Goethe  would 
assuredly  have  remonstrated  against  Oken’s  claim  to  the 
discovery  had  he  not  recognized  its  justice.  The  fact,  how- 
ever, is  by  no  means  decisive  : we  shall  see  presently  that 
Goethe  had  his  own  reasons  for  silence.  “ I naturally  sent 
Goethe  a copyof  my  programme.  This  discovery  pleased  him 
so  much  that  he  invited  me,  at  Easter,  1808,  to  spend  a 
week  with  him  at  Weimar,  which  I did.  As  long  as  the  dis- 
covery was  ridiculed  by  men  of  science,  Goethe  was  silent, 
but  no  sooner  did  it  attain  renown  through  the  works  of 
Meckel,  Spix,  and  others,  than  there  grew  up  a murmur 
among  Goethe’s  servile  admirers  that  this  idea  originated 
with  him.  About  this  time  Bojanus  went  to  Weimar,  and 
hearing  of  Goethe’s  discovery,  half  believed  it,  and  sent  the 
rumor  to  me,  which  I thoughtlessly  printed  in  the  Isis  (1818, 
p.  509) ; whereupon  I announced  that  I made  my  discovery 
in  the  autumn  of  1806.”  This  is  equivocal.  He  did  not 
throw  any  doubt  on  Goethe’s  claim  to  priority,  he  only  assert- 
ed his  own  originality.  “ Now  that  Bojanus  had  brought 
the  subject  forward,”  he  adds,  “ Goethe’s  vanity  was  piqued, 
and  he  came  afterwards,  thirteen  years  subsequent  to  my  dis- 
covery, and  said  he  had  held  the  opinion  for  thirty  years.” 

Why  was  Goethe  silent  when  Oken  first  announced  his  dis- 
covery ? and  why  did  not  Oken  make  the  charge  of  plagia- 


316 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [nooK  v. 


rism  during  Goethe’s  lifetime?  The  first  question  may  be 
answered  from  Goethe’s  own  works.  In  a note  entitled  Das 
Schadelgeriist  aus  seeks  Wirbelknochen  auferbaut , after  allud- 
ing to  his  recognition  first  of  three  and  subsequently  of  six 
vertebrae  in  the  skull,  which  he  spoke  of  among  his  friends, 
who  set  to  work  to  demonstrate  it  if  possible,  he  says  : “ In 
the  year  1807  this  theory  appeared  tumultuously  and  imper- 
fectly before  the  public,  and  naturally  awakened  great  dis- 
putes and  some  applause.  How  seriously  it  was  damaged 
by  the  incomplete  and  fantastic  method  of  exposition,  His- 
tory must  relate.  This  criticism  of  the  exposition  will  be 
understood  by  every  one  who  has  read  Oken,  and  who 
knows  Goethe’s  antipathy  to  metaphysics.*  With  all  his  pre- 
possession in  favor  of  a Type,  he  could  not  patiently  have 
accepted  an  exposition  which  “ tumultuously  ” announced 
that  “ the  whole  man  is  but  a vertebra.”  Accordingly  he  took 
no  notice  of  the  tumultuous  metaphysician  ; and  in  his  Tag 
und  Jahres  Hefte  he  mentions  that  while  he  was  working  out 
his  theory  with  two  friends,  Riemer  and  Voigt,  they  brought 
him,  with  some  surprise,  the  news  that  this  idea  had  just 
been  laid  before  the  public  in  an  academic  programme,  “ a 
fact,”  he  adds,  “ which  they , being  still  alive , can  testify.”  Why 
did  he  not  claim  priority  ? “ I told  my  friends  to  keep 

quiet,  for  the  idea  was  not  properly  worked  out  in  the  pro- 
gramme ; and  that  it  was  not  elaborated  from  original  obser- 
vations would  be  plain  to  all  scientific  men.  I was  frequently 
besought  to  speak  plainly  on  the  subject ; but  I was  firm  in 
my  silence.  ” 

When  I first  discussed  this  question,  and  knew  nothing  of 
the  decisive  evidence  which  lay  unpublished  in  the  letter  to 
Herder’s  wife,  I said  that  this  statement  carried  complete 

* So  also  Cuvier’s  antipathy  to  this  exposition  made  him  blind  to  the 
truth  which  it  contained. 


788.j 


THE  POET  AS  A MAN  OF  SCIENCE. 


31 7 


conviction  to  my  mind.  It  was  published  many  years  before 
Oken  made  his  charge,  and  it  accused  him  in  the  most 
explicit  terms  of  having  prematurely  disclosed  an  idea  Goethe 
was  then  elaborating  with  the  assistance  of  his  friends. 
Nor  was  this  all.  It  appealed  to  two  honorable  and  respect- 
ed men,  then  living,  as  witnesses  of  the  truth.  Oken  said 
nothing  when  the  question  could  have  been  peremptorily  set- 
tled by  calling  upon  Voigt  and  Riemer.  He  waited  till 
death  rendered  an  appeal  impossible.  He  says,  indeed,  that 
he  made  no  answer  to  the  first  passage  I have  cited,  because 
he  was  not  named  in  it,  and  he  “ did  not  wish  to  involve  him- 
self in  a host  of  disagreeables.”  But  this  is  no  answer  to  the 
second  passage.  There  he  is  indicated  as  plainly  as  if  the 
name  of  Oken  were  printed  in  full ; and  not  only  is  he  indi- 
cated, but  Goethe’s  friends  speak  of  Oken’s  coming  forward 
with  Goethe’s  idea  as  a matter  which  “ surprised  ” them. 
Those  to  whom  this  reasoning  was  not  conclusive  are  now 
referred  to  the  confirmation  it  receives  from  the  letter  to 
Herder’s  wife. 

Having  vindicated  Goethe’s  character,  and  shown  that  bio- 
graphically we  are  fully  justified  in  assigning  to  him  the  honor 
of  having  first  conceived  this  theory,  it  now  remains  to  be 
added  that  historically  the  priority  of  Oken’s  claim  must  be 
admitted.  In  writing  the  poet’s  biography,  it  is  of  some  im- 
portance to  show  that  he  was  not  indebted  to  Oken  for  the 
discovery.  In  writing  the  history  of  science,  it  would  be  to 
Oken  that  priority  would  be  assigned,  simply  because,  accord- 
ing to  the  judicious  principles  of  historical  appreciation,  pri- 
ority of  publication  carries  off  the  prize.  No  man’s  claim  to 
priority  is  acknowledged  unless  he  can  bring  forward  the  evi- 
dence of  publication  ; otherwise  every  discovery  might  be 
claimed  by  those  who  have  no  right  to  it.  Moreover,  Oken 
has  another  claim : to  him  undeniably  belongs  the  merit  of 


318 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


having  introduced  the  idea  into  the  scientific  world,  accom- 
panied with  sufficient  amount  of  detail  to  make  it  acceptable 
to  scientific  minds,  and  to  set  them  to  work  in  verifying  the 
idea.  On  these  grounds  I think  it  indisputable  that  the 
vertebral  theory  must  be  attributed  to  Oken,  and  not  to 
Goethe  ; although  it  is  not  less  indisputable  that  Goethe  did 
anticipate  the  discovery  by  sixteen  years,  and  would  have 
earned  the  right  to  claim  it  of  History,  had  he  made  his  dis- 
covery public,  instead  of  privately  discussing  it  with  his 
friends.  Virchow  thinks  otherwise  ; he  assigns  priority  to 
Goethe  ; but  he  would,  I am  sure,  admit  the  generally  received 
principle  that  priority  of  publication  is  the  test  upon  which 
alone  History  can  rely. 

To  conclude  this  somewhat  lengthy  chapter  on  the  scien- 
tific studies,  it  must  be  stated  that,  for  the  sake  of  bringing 
together  his  various  efforts  into  a manageable  whole,  I have 
not  attended  strictly  to  chronology.  Nor  have  I specified  the 
various  separate  essays  he  has  written.  They  are  all  to  be 
found  collected  in  his  works.  My  main  object  has  been  to 
show  what  were  the  directions  of  his  mind,  what  were  his 
achievements  and  failures  in  Science,  what  place  Science  filled 
in  his  life,  and  how  false  the  supposition  is  that  he  was  a mere 
dabbler.  What  Buffon  says  of  Pliny  may  truly  be  said  of 
Goethe,  that  he  had  cette  facilite  de penser  en  grand  qui  multiple 
la  science ; and  it  is  only  as  a thinker  in  this  great  department 
that  I claim  a high  place  for  him. 


THE  CAMPAIGN  IN  FRANCE . 


319 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CAMPAIGN  IN  FRANCE. 

In  1790  Goethe  undertook  the  government  of  all  the  In- 
stitutions for  Science  and  Art,  and  busied  himself  with  the 
arrangement  of  the  Museums  and  Botanical  Gardens  at  Jena. 
In  March  of  the  same  year  he  went  once  more  to  Italy  to  meet 
the  Duchess  Amalia  and  Herder  in  Venice.  There  he  tried 
in  Science  to  find  refuge  from  troubled  thoughts.  Italy  on  a 
second  visit  seemed,  however,  quite  another  place  to  him. 
He  began  to  suspect  that  there  had  been  considerable  illu- 
sion in  the  charm  of  his  first  visit.  The  Venetian  Epigrams , 
if  compared  with  the  Roman  Elegies , will  indicate  the  differ- 
ence of  his  mood.  The  yearning  regret,  the  fulness  of 
delight,  the  newness  of  wonder  which  give  their  accents  to 
the  Elegies,  are  replaced  by  sarcasms  and  the  bitterness  of 
disappointment.  It  is  true  that  many  of  these  epigrams  were 
written  subsequently,  as  their  contents  prove,  but  the  mass  of 
them  are  products  of  the  Venetian  visit.  Something  of  this 
dissatisfaction  must  be  attributed  to  his  position.  He  was  ill 
at  ease  with  the  world.  The  troubles  of  the  time,  and  the 
troubles  of  his  own  domestic  affairs,  aggravated  the  dangers 
which  then  threatened  his  aims  of  self-culture,  and  increased 
his  difficulty  in  finding  that  path  in  Science  and  Art  whereon 
the  culture  of  the  world  might  be  pursued. 

In  June  he  returned  to  Weimar.  In  July  the  Duke  sent 
for  him  at  the  Prussian  Camp  in  Silesia,  “where,  instead  of 
stones  and  flowers,  he  would  see  the  field  sown  with  troops. ” 
He  went  unwillingly,  but  compensated  himself  by  active  re- 
searches into  “ stones  and  flowers,”  leaving  to  the  Duke  and 


320 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  v. 


others  such  interest  as  was  to  be  found  in  soldiers.  He  lived 
like  a hermit  in  the  camp,  and  began  to  write  an  essay  on  the 
development  of  animals,  and  a comic  opera. 

In  August  he  returned  to  Weimar.  The  Duchess  Amalia 
and  Herder,  impatient  at  “ such  waste  of  time  over  old  bones,” 
plagued  him  into  relinquishing  osteology,  and  urged  him  to 
complete  Wilhelm  Meister.  He  did  not,  however,  proceed  far 
with  it  The  creative  impulse  was  past;  and  to  disprove 
Newton  was  a more  imperious  desire.  In  1791,  which  was  a 
year  of  quiet  study  and  domestic  happiness  for  him,  the  Court 
Theatre  was  established.  He  undertook  the  direction  with 
delight. 

And  now  he  was  to  be  torn  from  his  quiet  studies  to  follow 
the  fortunes  of  an  unquiet  camp.  The  King  of  Prussia  and 
the  Duke  of  Brunswick  at  the  head  of  a large  army  invaded 
France,  to  restore  Louis  XVI.  to  his  throne,  and  save  legiti- 
macy from  the  sacrilegious  hands  of  Sansculottism.  France, 
it  was  said,  groaned  under  the  tyranny  of  factions,  and  yearned 
for  deliverance.  The  emigrants  made  it  clear  as  day  that 
the  Allies  would  be  welcomed  by  the  whole  nation  ; and  the 
German  rulers  willingly  lent  their  arms  to  the  support  of 
legitimacy.  Karl  August,  passionately  fond  of  the  army, 
received  the  command  of  a Prussian  regiment.  And  Goethe, 
passionately  fond  of  Karl  August,  followed  him  into  the  field. 
But  he  followed  the  Duke,  — he  had  no  sympathy  with  the 
cause.  Indeed,  he  had  no  strong  feeling  either  way. 
Legitimacy  was  no  passion  with  him  ; still  less  was  Republic- 
anism. Without  interest  in  passing  politics,  profoundly  con- 
vinced that  all  salvation  could  only  come  through  inward 
culture,  and  dreading  disturbances  mainly  because  they  ren- 
dered culture  impossible,  he  was  emphatically  the  “ Child  of 
Peace,”  and  could  at  no  period  of  his  life  be  brought  to 
sympathize  with  great  struggles.  He  disliked  the  Revolution 


*79®.] 


THE  CAMPAIGN  IN  FRANCE. 


321 

as  he  disliked  the  Reformation,  because  they  both  thwarted 
the  peaceful  progress  of  development. 

It  was  not  in  Goethe’s  nature  to  be  much  moved  by  events, 
to  be  deeply  interested  in  the  passing  troubles  of  external 
life.  A meditative  mind  like  his  naturally  sought  in  the 
eternal  principles  of  Nature  the  stimulus  and  the  food  which 
other  minds  sought  in  passing  phenomena  of  the  day.  A 
poet  and  a philosopher  is  bound  to  be  interested  in  the  great 
questions  of  poetry  and  philosophy ; but  to  rail  at  him  for 
not  also  taking  part  in  politics,  is  as  irrational  as  to  rail  at  a 
prime  minister  because  he  cares  not  two  pins  for  Greek  Art, 
and  has  no  views  on  the  transmutation  of  species.  It  is  said, 
and  very  foolishly  said,  that  Goethe  turned  from  politics  to 
art  and  science,  because  politics  disturbed  him,  and  because 
he  was  too  selfish  to  interest  himself  in  the  affairs  of  others. 
But  this  accusation  is  on  a par  with  those  ungenerous  accusa- 
tions which  declare  heterodoxy  to  be  the  shield  of  profligacy  : 
as  if  doubts  proceeded  only  from  dissolute  habits.  How 
unselfish  Goethe  was,  those  best  know  who  know  him  best ; 
it  would  be  well  if  we  could  say  so  much  of  many  who  devote 
themselves  to  patriotic  schemes.  Patriotism  may  be  quite  as 
selfish  as  Science  or  Art,  even  when  it  is  a devout  convic- 
tion ; nor  is  it  likely  to  be  less  selfish  when,  as  so  often 
happens,  patriotism  is  only  an  uneasy  pauperism. 

That  Goethe  sincerely  desired  the  good  of  mankind,  and 
that  he  labored  for  it  in  his  way  with  a perseverance  few  have 
equalled,  is  surely  enough  to  absolve  him  from  the  charge  of 
selfishness,  because  his  labors  did  not  take  the  special  di- 
rection of  politics.  What  his  opinions  were  is  one  thing, 
another  thing  his  conduct.  Jean  Paul  says,  “ He  was  more 
far-sighted  than  the  rest  of  the  world,  for  in  the  beginning 
of  the  French  Revolution  he  despised  the  patriots  as  much 
as  he  did  at  the  end.”  I do  not  detect  any  feeling  so  deep 

14* 


u 


322 


THE  STORY  OF  GOE THE yS  LIFE.  [book  v. 


as  contempt,  either  late  or  early ; but  it  is  certain  that  while 
Klopstock  and  others  were  madly  enthusiastic  at  the  opening 
of  this  terrible  drama,  they  were  as  madly  fanatical  against  it 
before  its  close ; whereas  Goethe  seems  to  have  held  pretty 
much  the  same  opinion  throughout. 

The  Allies  entered  France,  believing  the  campaign  would 
be  a mere  promenade.  Longwy  they  were  assured  would  soon 
surrender,  and  the  people  receive  them  with  open  arms. 
Longwy  did  surrender ; but  the  people,  so  far  from  showing 
any  disposition  to  welcome  them,  everywhere  manifested  the 
most  determined  resistance. 

The  defeat  at  Valmy,  slight  as  it  was,  discouraged  the 
Prussians  and  exhilarated  the  French.  The  Prussians 
startled  at  the  cry  of  Vive  la  Nation  ! with  which  the  republi- 
cans charged,  and  finding  themselves  on  foreign  ground, 
without  magazines,  stores,  or  any  proper  preparations  for  a 

long  conflict,  perceived  the  mistake  they  had  made,  and 

% 

began  to  retreat.  It  was  doubtless  a relief  to  Goethe  to  hear 
that  he  had  not  much  longer  to  endure  the  hardships  of  cam- 
paigning. He  had  no  interest  in  the  cause,  and  he  had  not 
gained  by  actual  contact  with  its  leaders  a higher  opinion  of 
them.  Although  his  return  home  was  slow,  and  French 
arms  were  everywhere  victorious  in  his  rear,  he  finally 
reached  Weimar  in  safety,  and  was  able  to  resume  the  old 
tenor  of  his  life. 


BOOK  THE  SIXTH. 


1794  TO  1805. 


CHAPTER  I. 

GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER. 

There  are  few  nobler  spectacles  than  the  friendship  of 
two  great  men  ; and  the  History  of  Literature  presents  noth- 
ing comparable  to  the  friendship  of  Goethe  and  Schiller. 
The  friendship  of  Montaigne  and  Etienne  de  la  Boetie  was, 
perhaps,  more  passionate  and  entire ; but  it  was  the  union  of 
two  kindred  natures,  which  from  the  first  moment  discovered 
their  affinity,  not  the  union  of  two  rivals  incessantly  con- 
trasted by  partisans,  and  originally  disposed  to  hold  aloof 
from  each  other.  Rivals  Goethe  and  Schiller  were  and  are  ; 
natures  in  many  respects  directly  antagonistic ; chiefs  of 
opposing  camps,  and  brought  into  brotherly  union  only  by 
what  was  highest  in  their  natures  and  their  aims. 

To  look  on  these  great  rivals  was  to  see  at  once  their  pro- 
found dissimilarity.  Goethe’s  beautiful  head  had  the  calm 
victorious  grandeur  o£  the  Greek  ideal ; Schiller’s  the  earnest 
beauty  of  a Christian  looking  towards  the  Future.  The 
massive  brow,  and  large-pupilled  eyes,  — like  those  given  bv 
Raphael  to  the  infant  Christ,  in  the  matchless  Madonna  di 
San  Sisto,  — the  strong  and  well-proportioned  features,  lined 
indeed  by  thought  and  suffering,  yet  showing  that  thought 
and  suffering  have  troubled,  but  not  vanquished,  the  strong 
man,  — a certain  healthy  vigor  in  the  brown  skin,  make 
Goethe  a striking  contrast  to  Schiller,  with  his  eager  eyes, 


324 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vr. 


/ 

narrow  brow,  — tense  and  intense,  — his  irregular  features 
worn  by  thought  and  suffering,  and  weakened  by  sickness. 
The  one  looks , the  other  looks  out.  Both  are  majestic  ; but 
one  has  the  majesty  of  repose,  the  other  of  conflict.  Goethe’s 
frame  is  massive,  imposing;  he  seems  much  taller  than 
he  is.  Schiller’s  frame  is  disproportioned,  he  seems  less  than 
he  is.  Goethe  holds  himself  stiffly  erect ; the  long-necked 
Schiller  “ walks  like  a camel.”  * Goethe’s  chest  is  like  the 
torso  of  the  Theseus ; Schiller’s  is  bent,  and  has  lost  a lung. 

A similar  difference  is  traceable  in  details.  “ An  air  that 
was  beneficial  to  Schiller  acted  on  me  like  poison,”  Goethe 
said  to  Eckermann.  “ I called  on  him  one  day,  and  as  I did 
not  find  him  at  home,  I seated  myself  at  his  writing-table  to 
note  down  various  matters.  I had  not  been  seated  long, 
before  I felt  a strange  indisposition  steal  over  me,  which 
gradually  increased,  until  at  last  I nearly  fainted.  At  first  I 
did  not  know  to  what  cause  I should  ascribe  this  wretched 
and  to  me  unusual  state,  until  I discovered  that  a dreadful 
odor  issued  from  a drawer  near  me.  When  I opened  it,  I 
found  to  my  astonishment  that  it  was  full  of  rotten  apples. 
I immediately  went  to  the  window  and  inhaled  the  fresh  air, 
by  which  I was  instantly  restored.  Meanwhile,  his  wife 
came  in,  and  told  me  that  the  drawer  was  always  filled  with 
rotten  apples,  because  the  scent  was  beneficial  to  Schiller, 
and  he  could  not  live  or  work  without  it* 

As  another  and  not  unimportant  detail,  characterizing  the 
healthy  and  unhealthy  practice  of  literature,  it  may  be  added 
that  Goethe  wrote  in  the  freshness  of  morning,  entirely  flee 

* This  picturesque  phrase  was  uttered  by  Tieck,  the  sculptor,  to  Rauch, ^ 
from  whom  I heard  it.  Let  me  add  that  Schiller’s  brow  is  called  in  the 
text  “ narrow,”  in  defiance  of  Dannecker’s  bust,  with  which  I compared 
Schiller’s  skull,  and  found  that  the  sculptor,  as  usual,  had  grossly  de- 
oarted  from  truth  in  his  desire  to  idealize. 


794-] 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER. 


325 


from  stimulus ; Schiller  worked  in  the  feverish  hours  of 
night,  stimulating  his  languid  brain  with  coffee  and  cham- 
pagne. 

In  comparing  one  to  a Greek  ideal,  the  other  to  a Christian 
ideal,  it  has  already  been  implied  that  one  was  the  representa- 
tive of  Realism,  the  other  of  Idealism.  Goethe  has  himself 
indicated  the  capital  distinction  between  them  : Schiller  was 
animated  with  the  idea  of  Freedom ; Goethe,  on  the  contary,\/ 
was  animated  with  the  idea  of  Nature.  This  distinction  runs 
through  their  works:  Schiller  always  pining  for  something 
greater  than  Nature,  wishing  to  make  men  Demigods  ; Goethe 
always  striving  to  let  Nature  have  free  development,  and 
produce  the  highest  forms  of  Humanity.  The  Fall  of  Man 
was  to  Schiller  the  happiest  of  all  events,,  because  thereby 
men  fell  away  from  pure  instinct  into  conscious  freedom  ; with 
this  sense  of  freedom  came  the  possibility  of  Morality.  To 
Goethe  this  seemed  paying  a price  for  Morality  which  was 
higher  than  Morality  was  worth  ; he  preferred  the  ideal  of  a 
condition  wherein  Morality  was  unnecessary.  Much  as  he 
might  prize  a good  police,  he  prized  still  more  a society  in 
which  a police  would  never  be  needed. 

Goethe  and  Schiller  were  certainly  different  natures  ; but 
had  they  been  so  fundamentally  opposed  as  it  is  the  fashion 
to  consider  them,  they  could  never  have  become  so  intimately 
united.  They  were  opposite  and  allied,  with  somewhat  of 
the  same  differences  and  resemblances  as  are  traceable  in  the 
Greek  and  Roman  Mars.  In  the  Greek  Mythology  the  God 
of  War  had  not  the  prominent  place  he  attained  in  Rome  ; 
and  the  Greek  sculptors,  when  they  represented  him,  repre- 
sented him  as  the  victor  returning,  after  conflict,  to  repose, 
holding  in  his  hand  the  olive  branch,  while  at  his  feet  sat 
Eros.  The  Roman  sculptors,  or  those  who  worked  for  Rome, 
represented  Mars  as  the  God  of  War  in  all  his  terrors,  in  the 


326 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [kook  vi. 


very  act  of  leading  on  to  victory.  But,  different  as  these 
two  conceptions  were,  they  were  both  conceptions  of  the  God 
of  War  ; Goethe  may  be  likened  to  the  one,  and  Schiller  to 
the  other:  both  were  kindred  spirits  united  by  a common 
purpose. 

Having  touched  upon  the  points  of  contrast,  it  will  now  be 
needful  to  say  a word  on  those  points  of  resemblance  which 
served  as  the  basis  of  their  union.  It  will  be  unnecessary  to 
instance  the  obvious  points  which  two  such  poets  must  have 
had  in  common  ; the  mention  of  some  less  obvious  will  suffice 
for  our  present  purpose.  They  were  both  profoundly  con- 
vinced that  Art  was  no  luxury  of  leisure,  no  mere  amusement 
to  charm  the  idle,  or  relax  the  careworn ; but  a mighty  influ- 
ence, serious  in  its  aims  although  pleasurable  in  its  means  ; 
a sister  of  Religion,  by  whose  aid  the  great  world-scheme  was 
wrought  into  reality.  This  was  with  them  no  mere  sonorous 
phrase.  They  were  thoroughly  in  earnest.  They  believed 
that  Culture  would  raise  Humanity  to  its  full  powers  ; and 
they,  as  artists,  knew  no  Culture  equal  to  that  of  Art.  It  was 
probably  a perception  of  this  belief  that  made  Karl  Grun  say, 
“ Goethe  was  the  most  ideal  Idealist  the  earth  has  ever  borne  ; 
an  (Esthetic  Idealist.”  And  hence  the  origin  of  the  wide- 
spread error  that  Goethe  “ only  looked  at  life  as  an  artist,” 
i.  e.  cared  only  for  human  nature  inasmuch  as  it  afforded  him 
materials  for  Art ; a point  which  will  be  more  fully  examined 
hereafter.  The  phases  of  their  development  had  been  very 
similar,  and  had  brought  them  to  a similar  standing-point, 
They  both  began  rebell iously ; they  both  emerged  from  titanic 
lawlessness  in  emerging  from  youth  to  manhood.  In  Italy 
the  sight  of  ancient  masterpieces  completed  Goethe’s  meta- 
morphosis. Schiller  had  to  work  through  his  in  the  gloomy 
North,  and  under  the  constant  pressure  of  anxieties.  He, 
too,  pined  for  Italy,  and  thought  the  climate  of  Greece  would 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER. 


327 


1 794-] 

make  him  a poet.  But  his  intense  and  historical  mind  found 
neither  stimulus  nor  enjoyment  in  plastic  Art.  Noble  men 
and  noble  deeds  were  the  food  which  nourished  his  great 
soul.  “ His  poetic  purification  came  from  moral  ideals ; 
whereas  in  Goethe  the  moral  ideal  came  from  the  artistic.”* 
Plutarch  was  Schiller’s  Bible.  The  ancient  masterpieces  of 
poetry  came  to  him  in  this  period  of  his  development,  to  lead 
him  gently  by  the  hand  onwards  to  the  very  point  where 
Goethe  stood.  He  read  the  Greek  tragedians  in  wretched 
French  translations,  and  with  such  aid  laboriously  translated 
the  Iphigenia  of  Euripides.  Homer,  in  Voss’s  faithful  version, 
became  to  him  what  Homer  long  was  to  Goethe.  And  how 
thoroughly  he  threw  himself  into  the  ancient  world  may  be 
seen  in  his  poem,  The  Gods  of  Greece.  Like  Goethe,  he  had 
found  his  religious  opinions  gradually  separating  him  more 
and  more  from  the  orthodox  Christians  ; and,  like  Goethe,  he 
had  woven  for  himself  a system  out  of  Spinoza,  Kant,  and  the 
Grecian  sages. 

At  the  time,  then,  that  these  two  men  seemed  most  opposed 
to  each  other,  and  were  opposed  in  feeling,  they  were  gradu- 
ally drawing  closer  and  closer  in  the  very  lines  of  their  devel- 
opment, and  a firm  basis  was  prepared  for  solid  and  enduring 
union.  Goethe  was  five-and-forty,  Schiller  five-and-thirty. 
Goethe  had  much  to  give,  which  Schiller  gratefully  accepted  ; 
and  if  he  could  not  in  return  influence  the  developed  mind 
of  his  great  friend,  nor  add  to  the  vast  stores  of  its  knowledge 
and  experience,  he  could  give  him  that  which  was  even  more 
valuable,  sympathy  and  impulse.  He  excited  Goethe  to  work. 
He  withdrew  him  from  the  engrossing  pursuit  of  science, 
and  restored  him  once  more  to  poetry.  He  urged  him  to 
finish  what  was  already  commenced,  and  not  to  leave  his 
works  all  fragments.  They  worked  together  with  the  same 


* Gervinus , V.  p.  152. 


328 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


purpose  and  with  the  same  earnestness,  and  their  union  is 
the  most  glorious  episode  in  the  lives  of  both,  and  remains  as 
an  eternal  exemplar  of  a noble  friendship. 

Of  all  the  tributes  to  Schiller’s  greatness  which  an  enthusi- 
astic people  has  pronounced,  there  is  perhaps  nothing  which 
carries  a greater  weight  of  tenderness  and  authority  than 
Goethe’s  noble  praise.  It  is  a very  curious  fact  in  the  history 
of  Shakespeare,  that  he  is  not  known  to  have  written  a single 
line  in  praise  of  any  contemporary  poet.  The  fashion  of 
those  days  was  for  each  poet  to  write  verses  in  eulogy  of  his 
friends  ; and  the  eulogies  written  by  Shakespeare’s  friends  are 
such  as  to  satisfy  even  the  idolatry  of  admirers  in  our  day ; 
but  there  exists  no  eulogy,  no  single  verse,  from  him  whose 
eulogy  was  more  worth  having  than  that  of  all  the  rest  put 
together.*  Had  literary  gossip,  pregnant  with  literary  malice, 
produced  the  absurd  impression  that  Shakespeare  was  cold, 
selfish,  and  self-idolatrous,  this  curious  fact  would  have  been 
made  a damning  proof.  I have  so  often  in  these  pages  used 
Shakespeare  as  a contrast  to  Goethe,  that  it  would  be  wrong 
not  to  contrast  him  also  on  this  point.  Of  all  the  failings 
usually  attributed  to  literary  men,  Goethe  had  the  least  of 
what  could  be  called  jealousy  ; of  all  the  qualities  which  sit 
gracefully  on  greatness,  he  had  the  most  of  magnanimity. 
The  stream  of  time  will  carry  down  to  after  ages  the  memory 
of  several  whose  names  will  live  only  in  his  praise ; and  the 
future  students  of  Literary  History  will  have  no  fact  to  note 
of  Goethe  similar  to  that  noted  of  Shakespeare  : they  will  see 

* There  is,  indeed,  a couplet  in  the  Passionate  Pilgrim  which  names 
Spenser  with  high  praise  ; but  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  Passionate  Pil- 
grim is  anything  but  the  attempt  of  a bookseller  to  palm  off  on  the  pub- 
lic a work  which  Shakespeare  never  wrote ; and  it  is  certain  that 
Shakespeare  is  not  the  author  of  the  sonnet  in  which  Spenser  is  men- 
tioned, that  sonnet  having  been  previously  published  by  a Richard 
Barnfield. 


1794  ] 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER. 


329 


how  enthusiastic  was  his  admiration  of  his  rivals,  Schiller, 
Voss,  and  Herder,  and  how  quick  he  was  to  perceive  the 
genius  of  Scott,  Byron,  Beranger,  and  Manzoni. 

But  I must  quit  this  attempt  to  characterize  the  two  rivals, 
and  proceed  to  narrate  their  active  co-operation  in  the  com- 
mon work. 

While  the  great  world  was  agitated  to  its  depths  by  the 
rapid  march  of  the  Revolution,  the  little  world  of  Weimar 
pursued  the  even  tenor  of  its  way,  very  much  as  if  nothing 
concerning  the  destinies  of  mankind  were  then  in  action. 
Because  Goethe  is  the  greatest  figure  in  Germany,  the  eyes  of 
all  Germans  are  turned  towards  him,  anxious  to  see  how  he 
bore  himself  in  those  days.  They  see  him  — not  moving 
with  the  current  of  ideas,  not  actively  sympathizing  with 
events ; and  some  of  them  find  no  better  explanation  of  what 
they  see  than  the  brief  formula  that  “ he  was  an  egotist.”  If 
they  look,  however,  at  his  companions  and  rivals,  they  will 
find  a similar  indifference.  Wieland,  the  avowed  enemy  of  all 
despotism,  was  frightened  by  the  Reign  of  Terror  into  de- 
manding a dictatorship.  Nor  — strange  as  it  may  appear  — 
was  Schiller,  the  poet  of  Freedom,  the  creator  of  Posa, 
more  favorable  to  the  French  than  Goethe  himself.  The 
Republic  had  honored  him  in  a singular  way.  It  had  for- 
warded him  the  diploma  of  citizenship ; a dignity  conferred 
at  the  same  time  on  Washington,  Franklin,  Tom  Paine, 
Pestalozzi,  Campe,  and  Anacharsis  Clootz  ! The  diploma 
signed  by  Danton  and  Roland,  dated  6th  September,  1792, 
is  now  preserved  in  the  Library  at  Weimar,  where  visitors  will 
notice  the  characteristic  accuracy  of  the  French  in  the  spell- 
ing of  Schiller’s  name,  — a Monsieur  Gille,  publiciste  alle- 
mand.  This  honor  Schiller  owed  to  his  Robbers , or,  as  his 
admirers  called  it,  Robert,  chef  de  Brigands . From  the  very 
first  he  had  looked  with  no  favorable  eye  on  the  Revolution, 


330 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  vi. 


and  the  trial  of  Louis  XVI.  produced  so  deep  an  impression 
on  him,  that  he  commenced  an  address  to  the  National 
Convention,  which  was,  however,  outrun  by  rapid  events. 
Like  Wieland,  he  saw  no  hope  but  in  a dictatorship. 

Such  being  the  position  of  the  leading  minds,  we  are  not 
to  wonder  if  we  find  them  pursuing  their  avocations  just  as 
if  nothing  were  going  on  in  France  or  elsewhere.  Weimar 
could  play  no  part  in  European  politics.  The  men  of  Weimar 
had  their  part  to  play  in  Literature,  through  which  they  saw 
a possible  regeneration.  Believing  in  the  potent  efficacy  of 
culture,  they  devoted  themselves  with  patriotism  to  that.  A 
glance  at  the  condition  of  German  Literature  will  show  how 
patriotism  had  noble  work  to  do  in  such  a cause. 

The  Leipsic  Fair  was  a rival  to  our  Minerva  Press  ; Chiv- 
alry-romances, Robber-stories  and  Spectre-romances,  old 
German  superstitions,  Augustus  Lafontaine’s  sentimental 
family-pictures,  and  Plays  of  the  Sturm  und  Dj'ang  style, 
swarmed  into  the  sacred  places  of  Art,  like  another  invasion 
of  the  Goths.  On  the  stage  Kotzebue  was  king.  The 
Stranger  was  filling  every  theatre,  and  moving  the  sensibili- 
ties of  a too  readily  moved  pit.  Klopstock  was  becoming 
more  and  more  oracular,  less  and  less  poetical.  Jean  Paul 
indeed  gave  signs  of  power  and  originality ; but  except 
Goethe  and  Schiller,  Voss,  who  had  written  his  Luise  and 
translated  Homer , alone  seemed  likely  to  form  the  chief 
of  a school  of  which  the  nation  might  be  proud. 

It  was  in  this  state  of  things  that  Schiller  conceived  the 
plan  of  a periodical,  — Die  Horen , — memorable  in  many 
ways  to  all  students  of  German  Literature.  Goethe,  Herder, 
Kant,  Fichte,  the  Humboldts,  Klopstock,  Jacobi,  Engel, 
Meyer,  Garve,  Matthisson,  and  others,  were  to  form  a pha- 
lanx whose  irresistible  might  should  speedily  give  them  pos- 
session of  the  land. 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER. 


331 


I794-] 

^ Such  was  the  undertaking  which  formed  the  first  link  in 
the  friendship  of  Goethe  and  Schiller.  How  they  stood 
towards  each  other  has  been  seen  in  the  preceding  Book. 
One  day,  in  May,  1794,  they  met,  coming  from  a lecture  given 
by  Batsch  at  the  Natural  History  Society  in  Jena ; in  talking 
over  the  matter,  Goethe,  with  pleased  surprise,  heard  Schil- 
ler criticise  the  fragmentary  Method  which  teachers  of  Sci- 
ence uniformly  adopted.  When  they  arrived  at  Schiller’s 
house,  Goethe  went  in  with  him,  expounding  the  Theory  of 
Metamorphoses  with  great  warmth.  Taking  up  a pen,  he 
made  a rapid  sketch  of  the  typical  plant.  Schiller  listened 
with  great  attention,  seizing  each  point  clearly  and  rapidly, 
but  shaking  his  head  at  last,  and  saying,  “ This  is  not  an 
observation,  it  is  an  Idea.”  Goethe  adds  : “ My  surprise 
was  painful,  for  these  words  clearly  indicated  the  point  which 
separated  us.  The  opinions  he  had  expressed  in  his  essay 
on  Anmuth  und  Wurde  recurred  to  me,  and  my  old  repul- 
sion was  nearly  revived.  But  I mastered  myself,  and 
answered  that  I was  delighted  to  find  I had  Ideas  without 
knowing  it,  and  to  be  able  to  contemplate  them  with  my  own 
eyes.”  There  can  be  little  question  of  Schiller  having  been 
in  the  right,  though  perhaps  both  he  and  Goethe  assigned  an 
exclusively  subjective  meaning  to  the  phrase.  The  typical 
plant,  Goethe  knew  very  well,  was  not  to  be  found  in  nature ; 
but  he  thought  it  was  revealed  in  plants.*  Because  he 
arrived  at  the  belief  in  a type  through  direct  observation  and 
comparison,  and  not  through  cl  priori  deduction,  he  main- 
tained that  this  type  was  an  intuition  (Anschatiung) , not  an 
idea.  Probably  Schiller  was  more  impressed  with  the  meta- 
physical nature  of  the  conception  than  with  the  physical  evi- 

* Goethe,  speaking  of  his  labors  in  another  department,  says,  “I 
endeavored  to  find  the  Primitive  Animal  (Urthier),  in  other  words,  the 
Conception,  the  Idea  of  an  Animal.”  — Werke,  XXXVI.  p.  14. 


332 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


dence  on  which  it  had  been  formed.  The  chasm  between 
them  was  indeed  both  broad  and  deep  ; and  Goethe  truly 
says  : “ It  was  in  a conflict  between  the  Object  and  the  Sub- 
ject, the  greatest  and  most  interminable  of  all  conflicts,  that 
began  our  friendship,  which  was  eternal.”  A beginning  had 
been  made.  Schiller’s  wife,  for  whom  Goethe  had  a strong 
regard,  managed  to  bring  them  together ; and  the  proposed 
journal,  Die  Horen , brought  their  activities  and  sympathies 
into  friendly  union.  Rapid  was  the  growth  of  this  friend- 
ship, and  on  both  sides  beneficial.  Schiller  paid  a fort- 
night’s visit  at  Weimar ; Goethe  was  frequently  in  Jena. 
They  found  that  they  agreed  not  only  on  subjects,  but  also 
on  the  mode  of  looking  at  them.  “ It  will  cost  me  a 
long  time  to  unravel  all  the  ideas  you  have  awakened  in 
me,”  writes  Schiller;  “but  I hope  none  will  be  lost.” 

Regretting  that  he  could  not  give  the  novel  Wilhelm 
Meister  for  the  Hore?i , having  already  promised  it  to  a pub- 
lisher, Goethe  nevertheless  sends  Schiller  the  manuscript 
from  the  third  book  onwards,  and  gratefully  profits  by  the 
friendly  criticism  with  which  he  reads  it.  He  gave  him, 
however,  the  two  Epistles , the  Unterhaltnngen  deulscher  Ansge- 
wanderten , the  Roman  Elegies , and  the  essay  on  Literary 
Sansculottism. 

The  mention  of  Wilhelm  Meister  leads  us  to  retrace  our 
steps  a few  months,  when  the  active  interest  he  took  in  the 
direction  of  the  Weimar  Theatre  revived  his  interest  in  this 
novel,  over  which  he  had  dawdled  so  many  years.  He  fin- 
ished it ; but  he  finished  it  in  quite  a different  spirit  from 
that  in  which  it  was  commenced,  and  I do  not  at  all  feel  that 
Schiller’s  criticisms  really  were  of  advantage  to  it 

Towards  the  end  of  July  he  went  to  Dessau,  and  from 
thence  to  Dresden,  where  he  strove  with  Meyer  to  forget  the 
troubles  of  the  time  in  contemplation  of  the  treasures  of  Art. 


1 794-] 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER. 


333 


“All  Germany,”  he  writes  to  Fritz  von  Stein,  “is  divided 
into  anxious,  croaking,  or  indifferent  men.  For  myself  I find 
nothing  better  than  to  play  the  part  of  Diogenes,  and  roll 
my  tub.”  He  returned,  and  daily  grew  more  and  more  inti- 
mate with  Schiller.  They  began  the  friendly  interchange  of 
letters,  which  have  since  been  published  in  six  volumes, 
known  to  every  student.  In  Goethe’s  letters  to' other  friends 
at  this  time,  1795,  is  noticed  an  inward  contentment,  which 
he  rightly  attributes  to  this  new  influence.  “ It  was  a new 
spring  to  me,”  he  says,  “ in  which  all  seeds  shot  up,  and 
gayly  blossomed  in  my  nature.”  Contact  with  Schiller’s  ear- 
nest mind  and  eager  ambition  gave  him  the  stimulus  he  so 
long  had  wanted.  The  ordinary  spurs  to  an  author’s  activ- 
ity — the  need  of  money  or  the  need  of  fame  — pricked  him 
not.  He  had  no  need  of  money  ; of  fame  he  had  enough ; 
and  there  was  no  nation  to  be  appealed  to.  But  Schiller’s 
restless  striving,  and  the  emulation  it  excited,  acted  like 
magic  upon  him  ; and  the  years  of  their  friendship  were  for 
both  the  most  productive.  In  an  unpublished  letter  from 
Frau  von  Stein  to  Charlotte  von  Lengefeld,  dated  1795, 
there  is  this  noticeable  sentence  : “ I also  feel  that  Goethe  is 
drawing  nearer  to  Schiller,  for  he  has  appeared*  to  be  now  a 
little  more  aware  of  my  existence.  He  seems  to  me  like 
one  who  has  been  shipwrecked  for  some  years  on  one  of  the 
South  Sea  Islands,  and  is  now  beginning  to  think  of  return- 
ing home.”  By  the  shipwreck  is  of  course  meant  Christiane 
Vulpius  ; and  by  home,  the  salon  of  the  Frau  von  Stein.  It 
is  possible,  however,  to  reverse  these  positions. 

On  the  1 st  of  November  another  son  is  born  to  Goethe. 
He  bids  Schiller  to  bring  his  contribution  in  the  shape  of  a 
daughter,  that  the  poetic  family  may  be  united  and  increased 
by  a marriage.  But  this  child  only  lives  a few  days.  On 
the  20th,  Schiller  writes : “We  have  deeply  grieved  for  your 


334 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


loss.  You  can  console  yourself  with  the  thought  that  it  has 
come  so  early,  and  thus  more  affects  your  hopes  than  your 
love.”  Goethe  replies  : “ One  knows  not  whether  in  such 
cases  it  is  better  to  let  sorrow  take  its  natural  course,  or  to 
repress  it  by  the  various  aids  which  culture  offers  us.  If  one 
decides  upon  the  latter  method,  as  I always  do , one  is  only 
strengthened  for  a moment ; and  I have  observed  that  Na- 
ture always  asserts  her  right  through  some  other  crisis.” 

No  other  crisis  seems  to  have  come  in  this  case.  He  was 
active  in  all  directions.  Gottling,  in  Jena,  had  just  come  for- 
ward with  the  discovery  that  phosphorus  burns  in  nitrogen ; 
and  this  drew  Goethe’s  thoughts  to  Chemistry,  which  for  a 
time  was  his  recreation-  Anatomy  never  lost  its  attraction  : 
and  through  the  snow  on  bitter  mornings  he  was  seen  trudg- 
ing to  Loder’s  lectures,  with  a diligence  young  students 
might  have  envied.  The  Humboldts,  especially  Alexander, 
with  whom  he  was  in  active  correspondence,  kept  alive  his 
scientific  ardor  ; and  it  is  to  their  energetic  advice  that  we 
owe  the  essays  on  Comparative  Anatomy.  He  was  con- 
stantly talking  to  them  on  these  subjects,  eloquently 
expounding  his  ideas,  which  would  probably  never  have  been 
put  to  paper  had  they  not  urged  him  to  it.  True  it  is,  that 
he  did  not  finish  the  Essays;  and  only  in  1820  did  he  print 
what  he  had  written.*  These  conversations  with  the  Hum- 
boldts embraced  a wide  field.  “ It  is  not,  perhaps, 
presumptuous  to  suppose,”  he  says,  “ that  many  ideas  have 
thence,  through  tradition , become  the  common  property  of 
science,  and  have  blossomed  successfully,  although  the 
gardener  who  scattered  the  seeds  is  never  named.” 

* This  detail  is  important,  as  indeed  every  question  of  date  must  be 
in  science.  When  the  Essays  were  published,  the  principal  ideas  had 
already  been  brought  before  the  world ; when  the  Essays  were  written, 
the  ideas  were  extraordinary  novelties. 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER. 


335 


1 794-1 

Poetical  plans  were  numerous  ; some  of  them  were  carried 
into  execution.  A tragedy  on  the  subject  of  “ Prometheus 
Unbound”  was  begun,  but  never  continued.  The  Hymn  to 
Apollo  was  translated.  Alexis  und  Dora , the  Vier  jf a fires 
Zeiten , and  several  of  the  smaller  poems,  were  written  and 
given  to  Schiller  for  the  Horen  or  the  Musen  Almanack  ; not 
to  mention  translations  from  Madame  de  Stael,  and  the 
Autobiography  of  Benvenuto  Cellini . But  the  product  of  this 
time  which  made  the  greatest  sensation  was  the  Xenien . 

-Tt  has  already  been  indicated  that  the  state  of  German 
Literature  was  anything  but  brilliant,  and  that  public 
taste  was  very  low.  The  Horen  was  started  to  raise  that 
degraded  taste  by  an  illustrious  union  of  “All  the  Talents.” 
It  came  — was  seen  — and  made  no  conquest.  Mediocrity 
in  arms  assailed  it  in  numerous  journals.  Stupidity,  against 
which,  as  Schiller  says,  “ the  gods  themselves  are  powerless,” 
was  not  in  the  least  moved.  The  Horen  was  a double  fail- 
ure, for  it  failed  to  pay  its  expenses,  and  it  failed  to  excite 
any  great  admiration  in  the  few  who  purchased  it.  Articles 
by  the  poorest  writers  were  attributed  to  the  greatest.  Even 
Frederick  Schlegel  attributed  a story  by  Caroline  von  Wolzo- 
gen  to  Goethe.  The  public  was  puzzled  — and  somewhat 
bored.  “ All  the  Talents  ” have  never  yet  succeeded  in 
producing  a successful  periodical,  and  there  are  some  good 
reasons  for  supposing  that  they  never  will.  The  Horen  met 
with  the  fate  of  The  Liberal , in  which  Byron,  Shelley,  Leigh 
Hunt,  Moore,  Hazlitt,  and  Peacock  were  engaged.  But  the 
two  great  poets  who  had  taken  the  greatest  interest  in*it  were 
not  to  be  ignored  with  impunity.  They  resolved  on  a lit- 
erary vengeance,  and  their  vengeance  was  the  Xenien. 

A small  library  might  be  collected  of  the  works  called  forth 
by  these  epigrams ; but  for  the  English  reader  the  topic 
necessarily  has  but  slender  interest.  He  is  not  likely  to 


336 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


exclaim  with  Boas:  “On  the  31st  of  October,  1517,  was 
commenced  the  Reformation  of  the  Church  in  Germany ; in 
October,  1796,  commenced  the  Reformation  of  Literature. 
As  Luther  published  his  Theses  in  Wittenberg,  so  Goethe 
and  Schiller  published  their  Xenien.  No  one  before  had  the 
courage  so  to  confront  sacred  Dulness,  so  to  lash  all  Hypoc- 
risy.” One  sees  that  some  such  castigation  was  needed,  by 
the  loud  howling  which  was  set  up  from  all  quarters ; but 
that  any  important  purification  of  Literature  was  thereby 
effected  is  not  so  clear. 

The  idea  was  Goethe’s.  It  occurred  to  him  while  reading 
the  Xenia  of  Martial ; and  having  thrown  off  a dozen  epi- 
grams, he  sent  them  to  Schiller  for  the  Musen  Almanack. 
Schiller  was  delighted,  but  said  there  must  be  a hundred 
of  them,  chiefly  directed  against  the  journals  which  had 
attacked  the  Horen  ; the  hundred  was  soon  thought  too  small 
a number,  and  was  enlarged  to  a thousand.  They  were 
written  in  the  most  thorough  spirit  of  collaboration,  the  idea 
being  sometimes  given  by  one,  and  the  form  by  another ; 
one  writing  the  first  verse,  and  leaving  the  second  to  the 
other.  There  is  no  accurate  separation  of  their  epigrams, 
giving  each  to  each,  although  critics  have  made  an  approx- 
imative selection  ; and  Maltzahn  has  recently  aided  this  by 
collation  of  the  original  manuscripts  ; from  this  it  appears 
that  Goethe  wrote  about  one  sixth  of  the  whole,  and  those 
the  least  personal  and  offensive  epigrams* 

The  sensation  was  tremendous.  All  the  bad  writers  in 
the  kirfgdom,  and  they  were  an  army,  felt  themselves  person- 
ally aggrieved.  The  pietists  and  sentimentalists  were 
ridiculed  ; the  pedants  and  pedagogues  were  lashed.  So 
many  persons  and  so  many  opinions  were  scarified,  that  no 
wonder  if  the  public  ear  was  startled  at  the  shrieks  of  pain. 
Counterblasts  were  soon  heard,  and  the  Xenien-Sturm  will 


1 795-1 


GOETHE  AND  SCHILLER. 


33  7 


remain  as  a curious  episode  of  the  war  of  the  “ many  foolish 
heads  against  the  two  wise  ones.”  “ It  is  amusing,”  writes 
Goethe  to  Schiller,  “to  see  what  has  really  irritated  these 
fellows,  what  they  believe  will  irritate  us,  how  empty  and  low 
is  their  conception  of  others,  how  they  aim  their  arrows 
merely  at  the  outworks,  and  how  little  they  dream  of  the 
inaccessible  citadel  inhabited  by  men  who  are  in  earnest.” 
The  sensation  produced  by  the  Dunciad  and  by  the  English 
Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers  was  mild  compared  with  the 
sensation  produced  by  the  Xenien ; although  the  wit  and 
sarcasm  of  the  Xenien  is  as  milk  and  water  compared  with 
the  vitriol  of  the  Dunciad  and  the  English  Bards. 

Read  by  no  stronger  light  than  that  which  the  appreciation 
of  wit  as  wit  throws  on  these  epigrams,  and  not  by  the  strong 
light  of  personal  indignity  or  personal  malice,  the  Xenien 
will  appear  very  weak  productions,  and  the  sensation  they 
excited  must  appear  somewhat  absurd.  But  a similar  dis- 
appointment meets  the  modern  reader  of  the  Anti-Jacobin. 
We  know  that  its  pages  were  the  terror  of  enemies,  the 
malicious  joy  of  friends.  We  know  that  it  was  long  held  as 
a repertory  of  English  wit,  and  the  “ Days  of  the  Anti- 
Jacobin  ” are  mentioned  by  Englishmen  as  the  days  of  the 
Xenien  are  by  Germans.  Yet  now  that  the  personal  spice  is 
removed,  we  read  both  of  them  with  a feeling  of  wonder  at 
their  enormous  influence.  In  the  Xenien  there  are  a few 
epigrams  which  still  titillate  the  palate,  for  they  have  the  salt 
of  wit  in  their  lines.  There  are  many  also  which  have  no 
pretension  to  wit,  but  are  admirable  expressions  of  critical 
canons  and  philosophic  ideas.  If  good  taste  could  not  be 
created  by  attacks  on  bad  taste,  there  was  at  any  rate  some 
hope  that  such  a castigation  would  make  certain  places  sore ; 
and  in  this  sense  the  Xenien  did  good  service. 


15 


v 


338 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

“ After  the  mad  challenge  of  the  Xenien ,”  writes  Goethe 
to  Schiller,  “we  must  busy  ourselves  only  with  great  and 
worthy  works  of  Art,  and  shame  our  opponents  by  the  mani- 
festation of  our  poetical  natures  in  forms  of  the  Good  and 
Noble.”  This  trumpet-sound  found  Schiller  alert.  The  two 
earnest  men  went  earnestly  to  work,  and  produced  their 
matchless  ballads,  and  their  great  poems,  Hermann  und 
Dorothea  and  Wallenstein.  The  influence  of  these  men  on 
each  other  was  very  peculiar.  It  made  Goethe,  in  contradic- 
tion to  his  native  tendency,  speculative  and  theoretical.  It 
made  Schiller,  in  contradiction  to  his  native  tendency,  realis- 
tic. Had  it  not  urged  Goethe  to  rapid  production,  we  might 
have  called  the  influence  wholly  noxious ; but  seeing  what 
was  produced,  we  pause  ere  we  condemn.  “You  have  cre- 
ated a new  youth  for  me,”  writes  Goethe,  “ and  once  more 
restored  me  to  Poetry,  which  I had  almost  entirely  given  up.” 
They  were  both  much  troubled  with  Philosophy  at  this  epoch. 
Kant  and  Spinoza  occupied  Schiller ; Kant  and  scientific 
theories  occupied  Goethe.  They  were  both,  moreover,  becom- 
ing more  and  more  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  ancient  Art,  and 
were  bent  on  restoring  its  principles.  They  were  men  of 
genius,  and  therefore  these  two  false  tendencies — the  tenden- 
cy to  Reflection  and  the  tendency  to  Imitation  — were  less 
hurtful  to  their  works  than  to  the  national  culture.  Their 
genius  saved  them,  in  spite  of  their  errors  ; but  their  errors 
misled  the  nation.  It  is  remarked  by  Gervinus,  that  Philos- 
ophy was  restored  in  the  year  1781,  and  profoundly  affected 
all  Germany.  Let  any  one  draw  up  a statistical  table  of  our 


1796.] 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


339 


literary  productions,  and  he  will  be  amazed  at  the  decadence 
of  Poetry  during  the  last  fifty  years,  in  which  Philosophy  has 
been  supreme.”  Philosophy  has  distorted  Poetry,  and  been 
the  curse  of  Criticism.  It  has  vitiated  German  Literature ; 
and  it  produced,  in  combination  with  the  tendency  to  Imita- 
tion, that  brilliant  error  known  as  the  Romantic  School. 

A few  words  on  this  much-talked-of  school  may  not  be  un- 
acceptable. Like  its  offspring,  L ’ Ecole  Romantique  in  France, 
it  had  a critical  purpose  which  was  good,  and  a retrograde 
purpose  which  was  bad.  Both  were  insurgent  against  narrow 
critical  canons  ; both  proclaimed  the  superiority  of  Mediaeval 
Art ; both  sought  in  Catholicism  and  in  national  Legends 
meanings  profounder  than  those  current  in  the  literature  of 
the  day.  The  desire  to  get  deeper  than  Life  itself  led  to  a 
disdain  of  reality  and  the  present.  Hence  the  selection  of 
the^  Middle  Ages  and  the  East  as  regions  for  the  ideal ; they 
were  not  present,  and  they  were  not  classical ; the  classical 
had  already  been  tried,  and  against  it  the  young  Romantic 
School  was  everywhere  in  arms. 

In  their  crusade  against  the  French,  in  their  naturalization 
of  Shakespeare,  and  their  furtherance  of  Herder’s  efforts  to- 
wards the  restoration  of  a Ballad  Literature  and  the  taste  for 
Gothic  Architecture,  these  Romanticists  were  with  the  stream. 
They  also  flattered  the  national  tendencies  when  they  pro- 
claimed “ Mythology  and  Poetry,  symbolical  Legend  and  Art, 
to  be  one  and  indivisible,”*  whereby  it  became  clear  that  a 
new  Religion,  or  at  any  rale  a new  Mythology,  was  needed, 
for  “ the  deepest  want  and  deficiency  of  all  modern  Art  lies  in 
the  fact  that  the  artists  have  no  Mythology.”  t 

While  Fichte,  Schelling,  and  Schleiermacher  were  tor- 
mented with  the  desire  to  create  a new  philosophy  and  a new 

* F.  Schlegel,  Gesprdche  iiber  Poesie , p.  263. 

t Ibid.,  p.  274. 


340 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


religion,  it  soon  became  evident  that  a Mythology  was  not  to 
be  created  by  programme  ; and  as  a Mythology  was  indispen- 
sable, the  Romanticists  betook  themselves  to  Catholicism, 
with  its  saintly  Legends  and  saintly  Heroes  ; some  of  them, 
as  Tieck  and  A.  W.  Schlegel,  out  of  little  more  than  poetic 
enthusiasm  and  dilettantism  : others,  as  F.  Schlegel  and 
Werner,  with  thorough  conviction,  accepting  Catholicism  and 
all  its  consequences. 

Solger  had  called  Irony  the  daughter  of  Mysticism  ; and 
how  highly  these  Romanticists  prized  Mysticism  is  known  to 
all  readers  of  Novalis.  To  be  mystical  was  to  be  poetical  as 
well  as  profound  ; and  critics  glorified  mediaeval  monstrosities 
because  of  the  deep  spiritualism  which  stood  in  contrast  with 
the  pagan  materialism  of  Goethe  and  Schiller.  Once  com- 
menced, this  movement  carried  what  was  true  in  it  rapidly 
onwards  to  the  confines  of  nonsense.  Art  became  the  hand- 
maid of  Religion.  The  canon  was  laid  down  that  only  in  the 
service  of  Religion  had  Art  ever  flourished,  — only  in  that 
service  could  it  flourish  : a truth  from  which  strange  conclu- 
sions were  drawn.  Art  became  a propaganda.  Fra  Angelico 
and  Calderon  suddenly  became  idols.  WerneT” was  pro- 
claimed a Colossus  by  Wackenroder,  who  wrote  his  Herzen- 
sergies sungeneines  Kunstliebenden  Klosterbruders , with  Tieck’s 
aid,  to  prove,  said  Goethe,  that  because  some  monks  were 
artists,  all  artists  should  turn  monks.  Then  it  was  that  men 
looked  to  Faith  for  miracles  in  Art.  Devout  study  of  the 
Bible  was  thought  to  be  the  readiest  means  of  rivalling  Fra 
Angelico  and  Van  Eyck ; inspiration  was  sought  in  a hair-shirt. 
Catholicism  had  a Mythology,  and  painters  went  over  in 
crowds  to  the  Roman  Church.  Cornelius  and  Overbeck  lent 
real  genius  to  the  attempt  to  revive  the  dead  forms  of  early 
Christian  Art,  as  Goethe  and  Schiller  did  to  revive  the  dead 
forms  of  Grecian  Art.  Overbeck,  who  painted  in  a cloister, 


1797  1 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


341 


was  so  thoroughly  penetrated  by  the  ascetic  spirit,  that  he  re- 
. fused  to  draw  from  the  living  model,  lest  it  should  make  his 
works  too  naturalistic;  for  to  be  true  to  Nature  was  tanta- 
mount to  being  false  to  the  higher  tendencies  of  Spiritualism. 
Some  had  too  much  of  the  artistic  instinct  to  carry  their 
principles  into  these  exaggerations  ; but  others  less  gifted,  and 
more  bigoted,  carried  the  principles  into  every  excess.  A 
band  of  these  reformers  established  themselves  in  Rome, 
and  astonished  the  Catholics  quite  as  much  as  the  Protes- 
tants. Cesar  Masini,  in  his  work,  Dei  Puristi  i?i  Pittura , 
thus  describes  them : “ Several  young  men  came  to  Rome 
from  Northern  Germany  in  1809.  They  abjured  Protestant- 
ism, adopted  the  costume  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  began- 
to  preach  the  doctrine  that  painting  had  died  out  with 
Giotto,  and,  to  revive  it,  a recurrence  to  the  old  style  was 
necessary.  Under  such  a mask  of  piety  they  concealed 
their  nullity.  Servile  admirers  of  the  rudest  periods  in  Art, 
they  declared  the  pygmies  were  giants,  and  wanted  to  bring 
us  back  to  the  dry  hard  style  and  barbarous  imperfection  of  a 
Buffalmacco,  Calandrino,  Paolo  Uccello,  when  we  had  a 
Raphael,  a Titian,  and  a Correggio.”  In  spite  of  their  exag- 
gerated admiration  of  the  Trecentisti,  in  spite  of  a doctrine 
which  was  fundamentally  vicious,  the  Romanticists  made  a 
decided  revolution,  not  only  in  Literature  but  in  Painting,  and 
above  all  in  our  general  estimate  of  painters.  If  we  now  learn 
to  look  at  the  exquisite  works  of  Fra  Angelico,  Ghirlandajo, 
and  Masaccio  with  intense  pleasure,  and  can  even  so  far 
divest  ourselves  of  the  small  prejudices  of  criticism,  as  to  be 
deeply  interested  in  Giotto,  Gozzoli,  or  Guido  da  Arezzo, 
feeling  in  them  the  divine  artistic  faculty  which  had  not  yet 
mastered  artistic  expression,  it  is  to  the  preaching  of  the  Ro- 
manticists that  we  owe  this  source  of  noble  enjoyment.  In 
poetry  the  Romanticists  were  failures,  but  in  painting  they 


342 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


achieved  marked  success.  Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the 
German  School,  it  must  be  confessed  that  before  Overbeck, 

Cornelius,  Schadow,  Hess,  Lessing,  Hiibner,  Sohn,  and  Kaul- 

% 

bach,  the  Germans  had  no  modern  painters  at  all ; and  they 
have  in  these  men  painters  of  very  remarkable  power. 

To  return  to  Goethe.  He  was  led  by  Schiller  into  endless 
theoretical  discussions.  They  philosophized  on  the  limits  of 
epic  and  dramatic  poetry ; read  and  discussed  Aristotle’s  Poet- 
ics : discussions  which  resulted  in  Goethe’s  essay,  Ueber  epische 
und  dramatische  Poesie;  and,  as  we  gather  from  their  corre- 
spondence, scarcely  ventured  to  take  a step  until  they  had  seen 
how  Theory  justified  it.  Goethe  read  with  enthusiasm  Wolf’s 
Prolegomena  to  Homer,  and  at  once  espoused  its  principles. 
The  train  of  thought  thus  excited  led  him  from  the  origin  of 
epic  songs  to  the  origin  of  the  Hebrew  songs,  and  Eichhorn’s 
Introduction  to  the  Old  Testament  led  him  to  attempt  a new  ex- 
planation of  the  wanderings  of  the  people  of  Israel,  which  he 
subsequently  inserted  in  the  notes  to  the  Westostliche  Divan. 

Nor  was  he  only  busy  with  epical  theories ; he  also  gave 
himself  to  the  production  of  epics.  Hermann  und  Dorothea , 
the  most  perfect  of  his  poems,  was  written  at  this  time. 
Achilleis  was  planned  and  partly  executed  ; Die  fagd  was 
also  planned,  but  left  unwritten,  and  subsequently  became  the 
prose  tale  known  as  Die  Nov elle.  This  year  of  1797  more- 
over memorable  as  the  year  of  ballads,  in  which  he  and 
Schiller,  in  friendly  rivalry,  gave  Germany  lyrical  masterpieces. 
His  share  may  be  estimated,  when  we  learn  that  in  this  year 
were  written  the  Bride  of  Corinth , the  Zauberlehrling)  der  Gott 
und  die  Bajadere,  and  the  Schatzgraber. 

In  the  same  year  Faust  was  once  more  taken  up.  The 
Dedication , the  Prologue  in  Heaven , and  the  Intermezzo  of 
Oberon  and  Tiiania's  Marriage  were  written.  But  while  he 
was  in  this  mood,  Hirt  came  to  Weimar,  and  in  the  lively 


798] 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


343 


reminiscences  of  Italy,  and  the  eager  discussions  of  Art  which 
his  arrival  awakened,  all  the  northern  phantoms  were  exor- 
cised by  southern  magic.  He  gave  up  Fausty  and  wrote  an 
essay  on  the  Laokoon.  He  began  once  more  to  pine  for 
Italy.  This  is  characteristic  of  his  insatiable  hunger  for 
knowledge ; he  never  seemed  to  have  mastered  material 
enough.  Whereas  Schiller,  so  much  poorer  in  material,  and 
so  much  more  inclined  to  production,  thought  this  Italian 
journey  would  only  embarrass  him  with  fresh  objects ; and 
urged  Meyer  to  dissuade  him  from  it.  He  did  not  go ; and  I 
think  Schiller’s  opinion  was  correct : at  the  point  now  reached 
he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  give  a form  to  the  materials  he 
had  accumulated. 

In  the  July  of  this  year  he,  for  the  third  time,  made  a jour- 
ney into  Switzerland.  In  Frankfort  he  introduced  Christiane 
and  her  boy  to  his  Mother,  who  received  them  very  heartily, 
and  made  the  few  days’  stay  there  very  agreeable.  It  is 
unnecessary  for  us  to  follow  him  on  his  journey,  which  is 
biographically  interesting  only  in  respect  to  the  plan  of  an 
epic  on  William  Tell  which  he  conceived,  and  for  which  he 
studied  the  localities.  The  plan  was  never  executed.  He 
handed  it  over  to  Schiller  for  his  drama  on  that  subject, 
giving  him  at  the  same  time  the  idea  of  the  character  of  Tell, 
and  the  studies  of  localities,  which  Schiller  managed  to  em- 
ploy with  a mastery  quite  astonishing  to  his  friend.  The 
same  brotherly  co-operation  is  seen  in  the  composition  of* 
Wallenstein . It  is  not  true,  as  was  currently  supposed  in  Ger- 
many, that  Goethe  wrote  any  portions  of  that  work.  He  has 
told  us  himself  he  only  wrote  two  unimportant  lines.  But  his 
counsel  aided  Schiller  through  every  scene  ; and  the  bringing 
it  on  the  stage  was  to  him  like  a triumph  of  his  own. 

In  the  spring  of  1798  Schelling’s  Philosophy  of  Nature,  and 
his  own  plans  for  a History  of  the  Theory  of  Colors,  lured 


344 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


him  from  poetry  ; but  Schiller  again  brought  him  back  to  it. 
Faust  was  resumed,  and  the  last  tragic  scenes  of  the  First 
Part  were  written.  In  the  summer  he  was  much  at  Jena  with 
Schiller,  consequently  with  poetry.  Achilles  and  Tell,  the 
ancient  and  the  modern  world,  as  Schafer  remarks,  struggled 
for  priority,  but  neither  obtained  it,  because  he  was  still  per- 
plexed in  his  epic  theories.  The  studies  of  the  Iliad  had 
“ hunted  him  through  the  circle  of  enthusiasm,  hope,  insight, 
and  despair.”  No  sooner  did  he  leave  Jena  than,  as  he  con- 
fessed, he  was  drawn  by  another  polarity.  Accordingly,  we 
see  him  busy  with  an  art-journal,  the  Propylaen . He  was 
also  busy  with  the  alteration  of  the  Theatre,  the  boards  of 
which,  on  the  12th  of  October,  1798,  were  made  forever 
memorable  by  the  production  of  Wallenstein! s Camp  and 
Prologue . On  the  30th  January,  1799,  the  birthday  of  the 
Duchess  Luise,  the  Piccolommi  was  produced  ; and,  on  the 
20  th  of  April,  Wallenstein’s  Tod. 

It  was  in  this  year  that  a young  advocate,  in  Edinburgh, 
put  forth  a translation  of  Gotz  von  Berlicliingen , and  preluded 
to  a fame  as  great  as  Goethe’s  own  ; and  it  was  in  the  Decem- 
ber of  this  year  that  Karl  August’s  generosity  enabled  Schiller 
to  quit  Jena,  and  come  to  Weimar  for  the  rest  of  his  life, 
there  in  uninterrupted  intercourse  with  Goethe  to  pursue  the 
plans  so  dear  to  both,  especially  in  the  formation  of  a national 
stage. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Schiller’s  last  years. 

In  the  year  1800  Schiller  settled  at  Weimar,  there  to  end 
his  days  in  noble  work  with  his  great  friend.  It  may  interest 


i8oo.] 


SCHILLER'S  LAST  YEARS. 


345 


the  reader  to  have  a glimpse  of  Goethe’s  daily  routine ; the 
more  so,  as  such  a glimpse  is  not  to  be  had  from  any  pub- 
lished works. 

He  rose  at  seven,  sometimes  earlier,  after  a sound  and 
prolonged  sleep  ; for,  like  Thorwaldsen,  he  had  a “ talent  for 
sleeping,”  only  surpassed  by  his  talent  for  continuous  work. 
Till  eleven  he  worked  without  interruption.  A cup  of  choco- 
late was  then  brought,  and  he  resumed  work  till  one.  At  two 
he  dined.  This  meal  was  the  important  meal  of  the  day. 
His  appetite  was  immense.  Even  on  the  days  when  he 
complained  of  not  being  hungry,  he  ate  much  more  than  most 
men.  Puddings,  sweets,  and  cakes  were  always  welcome. 
He  sat  a long  while  over  his  wine,  chatting  gayly  to  some 
friend  or  other  (for  he  never  dined  alone),  or  to  one  of  the 
actors,  whom  he  often  had  with  him,  after  dinner,  to  read 
over  their  parts,  and  to  take  his  instructions.  He  was  fond 
of  wine,  and  drank  daily  his  two  or  three  bottles. 

Lest  this  statement  should  convey  a false  impression,  I 
hasten  to  recall  to  the  reader’s  recollection  the  habits  of  our 
fathers  in  respect  of  drinking.  It  was  no  unusual  thing  to  be 
a “ three-bottle  man  ” in  those  days  in  England,  when  the 
three  bottles  were  of  Port  or  Burgundy ; and  Goethe,  a 
Rhinelander,  accustomed  from  boyhood  to  wine,  drank  a 
wine  which'  his  English  contemporaries  would  have  called 
water.  The  amount  he  drank  never  did  more  than  exhilarate 
him  ; never  made  him  unfit  for  work  or  for  society. 

Over  his  wine  he  sat  some  hours  : no  such  thing  asdes.^ 
sert  was  seen  upon  his  table  in  those  days  : not  even  the 
customary  coffee  after  dinner.  His  mode  of  living  was 
extremely  simple  ; and  even  when  persons  of  very  modest 
circumstances  burned  wax,  two  poor  tallow  candles  were  all 
that  could  be  seen  in  his  rooms.  In  the  evening  he  went 
often  to  the  theatre,  and  there  his  customary  glass  of  punch 
15* 


346 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


was  brought  at  six  o’clock.  When  he  was  not  at  the  theatre, 
he  received  friends  at  home.  Between  eight  and  nine  a 
frugal  supper  was  laid,  but  he^never  ate  anything  except 
a little  salad  or  preserves.  By  ten  o’clo'clT  he  was  usually 
in  bed. 

Many  visitors  came  to  him.  From  the  letters  of  Chris- 
tiane  to  Meyer  we  gather  that  he  must  have  exercised  hospi- 
tality on  a large  scale,  since  about  every  month  50  pounds  of 
butter  are  ordered  from  Bremen,  and  the  cases  of  wine  have 
frequently  to  be  renewed.  It  was  the  pleasure  and  the  pen- 
alty of  his  fame,  that  all  persons  who  came  near  Weimar 
made  an  effort  to  see  him.  Sometimes  these  visitors  were 
persons  of  great  interest;  oftener  they  were  fatiguing  bores, 
or  men  with  pretensions  more  offensive  than  dulness.  To 
those  who  pleased  him  he  was  inexpressibly  charming  : to 
the  others  he  was  stately,  even  to  stiffness.  While,  therefore, 
we  hear  some  speak  of  him  with  an  enthusiasm  such  as  genius 
alone  can  excite,  we  hear  others  giving  vent  to  the  feelings  of 
disappointment,  and  even  of  offence,  created  by  his  manners. 
The  stately  minister  exasperated  those  who  went  to  see  the 
impassioned  poet.  As  these  visitors  were  frequently  authors, 
it  was  natural  they  should  avenge  their  wounded  self-love  in 
criticisms  and  epigrams.  To  cite  but  one  example  among 
many  : Burger,  whom  Goethe  had  assisted  in  a pecuniary 
way,  came  to  Weimar,  and  announced  himself  in  this  prepos- 
terous style,  “You  are  Goethe,— -I  am  Burger,”  evidently 
believing  he  was  thereby  maintaining  his  own  greatness,  and 
offering  a brotherly  alliance.  Goethe  received  him  with  the 
most  diplomatic  politeness  and  the  most  diplomatic  for- 
mality ; instead  of  plunging  into  discussions  of  poetry,  he 
would  be  brought  to  talk  of  nothing  but  the  condition  of  the 
Gottingen  University,  and  the  number  of  its  students.  Bur- 
ger went  away  furious,  avenged  this  reception  in  an  epi- 


i8oo.]  SCHILLER'S  LAST  YEARS.  347 

gram,  and  related  to  all  comers  the  experience  he  had  had 
of  the  proud,  cold,  diplomatic  Geheimerath.  Others  had  the 
like  experience  to  recount ; and  a public,  ever  greedy  of 
scandal,  ever  willing  to  believe  a great  man  is  a small  man, 
echoed  these  voices  in  swelling  chorus.  Something  of 
offence  lay  in  the  very  nature  of  Goethe’s  bearing,  which  was 
stiff,  even  to  haughtiness.  His  appearance  was  so  imposing, 
that  Heine  humorously  relates  how,  on  the  occasion  of  his 
first  interview  with  him,  an  elaborately  prepared  speech  was 
entirely  driven  from  his  memory  by  the  Jupiter-like  presence, 
and  he  could  only  stammer  forth  “ a remark  on  the  excel- 
lence of  the  plums  which  grew  on  the  road  from  Jena  to  Wei- 
mar.” An  imposing  presence  is  irritating  to  mean  natures. 
Goethe  might  have  gained  universal  applause,  if,  like  Jean 
. Paul,  he  had  worn  no  cravat,  and  had  let  his  hair  hang  loose 
upon  his  shoulders. 

The  mention  of  Jean  Paul  leads  me  to  quote  his  impres- 
sion of  Goethe.  “ I went  timidly  to  meet  him.  Every  one 
had  described  him  as  cold  to  everything  upon  earth.  Frau  von 
Kalb  said  he  no  longer  admires  anything,  not  even  himself. 
Every  word  is  ice.  Nothing  but  curiosities  warm  the  fibres 
of  his  heart ; so  I asked  Knebel  if  he  could  petrify  me,  or 
incrust  me  in  some  mineral  spring,  that  I might  present 
myself  as  a statue  or  a fossil.”  How  one  hears  the  accents 
of  village  gossip  in  these  sentences ! To  Weimarian  igno- 
rance Goethe’s  enthusiasm  for  statues  and  natural  products 
seemed  monstrous.  “ His  house,”  Jean  Paul  continues,  “ or 
rather  his  palace,  pleased  me ; it  is  the  only  one  in  Weimar  in 
the  Italian  style  ; with  such  a staircase ! A Pantheon  full  of 
pictures  and  statues.  Fresh  anxiety  oppressed  me.  At  last 
the  god  entered,  cold,  monosyllabic.  ‘ The  French  are 
drawing  towards  Paris,’  said  Knebel.  ‘ H’m  !’  said  the  god. 
His  face  is  massive  and  animated  ; his  eye  a ball  of  light  l 


348 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


At  last,  as  conversation  turned  on  art,  he  warmed,  and  was 
himself.  His  conversation  was  not  so  rich  and  flowing  as 
Herder’s,  but  penetrating,  acute,  and  calm.  Finally,  he 
read,  or  rather  performed,  an  unpublished  poem,  in  which 
the  flames  of  his  heart  burst  through  the  external  crust  of 
ice  ; so  that  he  greeted  my  enthusiasm  with  a pressure  of  the 
hand.  He  did  it  again  as  I took  leave,  and  urged  me  to 
call.  By  heaven  ! we  shall  love  each  other ! He  considers 
his  poetic  career  closed.  There  is  nothing  comparable  to 
his  reading.  It  is  like  deep-toned  thunder  blended  with 
whispering  rain-drops.” 

Now  let  us  hear  what  Jean  Paul  says  of  Schiller.  “ I went 
yesterday  to  see  the  stony  Schiller,  from  whom  all  strangers 
spring  back  as  from  a precipice.  His  form  is  wasted,  yet 
severely  powerful,  and  very  angular.  He  is  full  of  acumen, 
but  without  love.  His  conversation  is  as  excellent  as  his 
writings.”  He  never  repeated  this  visit  to  Schiller,  who 
doubtless  quite  subscribed  to  what  Goethe  wrote  : “ I am 
glad  you  have  seen  Richter.  His  love  of  truth,  and  his  wish 
for  self-improvement,  have  prepossessed  me  in  his  favor  ; but 
the  social  man  is  a sort  of  theoretical  man,  and  I doubt  if  he 
will  approach  us  in  a practical  way.” 

If  to  pretenders  and  to  strangers  Goethe  was  cold  and  re- 
pellent, he  was  warm  and  attractive  enough  to  all  with  whom 
he  could  spmpathize.  Brotherly  to  Schiller  and  Herder,  he 
was  fatherly  in  his  loving  discernment  and  protection  to  such 
men  as  Hegel,  then  an  unknown  teacher,  and  Voss,  the  son 
of  the  translator  of  Homer.*  He  excited  passionate  attach- 
ments in  all  who  lived  in  his  intimacy ; and  passionate 
hatred  in  many  whom  he  would  not  admit  to  intimacy. 

The  opening  of  this  century  found  Schiller  active  and 

* Note  Voss’s  enthusiastic  gratitude  in  his  Mittheilungen  iiber  Goethe 
und  Schiller. 


i8oo.J 


SCHILLER'S  LAST  YEARS. 


349 


anxious  to  stimulate  the  activity  of  his  friend.  But  theories 
hampered  the  genius  of  Goethe ; and  various  occupations 
disturbed  it.  He  was  not,  like  Schiller,  a reflective,  critical 
poet,  but  a spontaneous,  instinctive  poet.  The  consequence 
was,  that  Reflection  not  only  retarded,  but  misled  him  into 
Symbolism,  — the  dark  corner  of  that  otherwise  sunny  palace 
of  Art  which  he  has  reared.  He  took  up  Faust,  and  wrote 
the  classic  intermezzo  of  Helena.  He  was  very  busy  with 
the  Theatre,  and  with  Science ; and  at  the  close  of  the  year 
fell  into  a dangerous  illness,  which  created  much  anxiety  in 
the  Weimar  circle.  He  recovered  in  a few  weeks,  and 
busied  himself  with  the  translation  of  Theophrastus  on  Colors , 
with  Faust,  and  the  Natiirliche  Tochter. 

While  the  two  chiefs  of  Literature  were  in  noble  emulation 
and  brotherly  love,  working  together,  each  anxious  for  the 
success  of  the  other,  the  nation  divided  itself  into  two  parties, 
disputing  which  was  the  greater  poet  of  the  two ; as  in  Rome 
the  artists  dispute  about  Raphael  and  Michael  Angelo.  “ It 
is  difficult  to  appreciate  one  such  genius,”  says  Goethe  of  the 
two  painters,  “ still  more  difficult  to  appreciate  both.  Hence 
people  lighten  the  task  by  partisanship.”  The  partisanship 
in  the  present  case  was  fierce,  and  has  continued.  Instead 
of  following  Goethe’s  advice,  and  rejoicing  that  it  had  two 
such  poets  to  boast  of,  the  public  has  gone  on  crying  up  one 
at  the  expense  of  the  other.  Schiller  himself,  with  charming 
modesty,  confessed  his  inferiority  ; and  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
Korner  he  says  : “ Compared  with  Goethe  I am  but  a poetical 
bungler,  — gegen  Goethe  bin  und  bleib'  ich  ein  poetischer  LumpT 
But  the  majority  have  placed  him  higher  than  his  rival,  at 
least  higher  in  their  hearts.  Gervinus  has  remarked  a cu- 
rious contradiction  in  the  fate  of  their  works.  Schiller,  who 
wrote  for  men,  is  the  favorite  of  women  and  youths  ; Goethe, 
who  remained  in  perpetual  youth,  is  only  relished  by  men. 


350 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vi. 


The  secret  of  this  is,  that  Schiller  had  those  passions  and  en- 
thusiasms which  captivate  youth.  Goethe  told  Eckermann 
that  his  works  never  could  be  popular;  and,  except  the 
minor  poems  and  Faust , there  are  none  of  his  productions 
which  equal  the  popularity  of  Schiller’s. 

While  discussing  Physical  Science  with  Ritter,  Compara- 
tive Anatomy  with  Loder,  Optics  with  Himly,  and  making 
observations  on  the  Moon,  the  plan  of  a great  poem,  De  Na- 
tura  Rerum , rose  in  Goethe’s  mind,  and  like  so  many  other 
plans,  remained  a plan.  Intercourse  with  the  great  philolo- 
gist Wolff  led  him  a willing  student  into  Antiquity  ; and  from 
Voss  he  tried  to  master  the  principles  of  Metre  with  the  zeal 
of  a philologist.  There  is  something  very  piquant  in  the 
idea  of  the  greatest  poet  of  his  nation,  the  most  musical  mas- 
ter of  verse  in  all  possible  forms,  trying  to  acquire  a theoretic 
knowledge  of  that  which  on  instinct  he  did  to  perfection.  It 
is  characteristic  of  his  new  tendency  to  theorize  on  poqtry. 

In  December,  1803,  Weimar  had  a visitor  whose  rank  is 
high  among  its  illustrious  guests,  — Madame  de  Stael.  Na- 
poleon would  not  suffer  her  to  remain  in  France ; she  was 
brought  by  Benjamin  Constant  to  the  German  Athens,  that 
she  might  see  and  know  something  of  the  men  her  work  De 
V Allemagne  was  to  reveal  to  her  countrymen.  It  is  easy  to 
ridicule  Madame  de  Stael ; to  call  her,  as  Heine  does,  “ a 
whirlwind  in  petticoats,”  and  a “ Sultana  of  mind.”  But 
Germans  should  be  grateful  to  her  for  that  book,  which  still 
remains  one  of  the  best  books  written  about  Germany ; and 
the  lover  of  letters  will  not  forget  that  her  genius  has,  in 
various  departments  of  literature,  rendered  illustrious  the 
power  of  the  womanly  intellect.  Goethe  and  Schiller,  whom 
she  stormed  with  cannonades  of  talk,  spoke  of  her  intellect 
with  great  admiration.  Of  all  living  creatures  he  had  seen, 
Schiller  said,  she  was  “ the  most  talkative,  the  most  comba- 


SCHILLER'S  LAST  YEARS . 


351 


1803.] 

tive,  the  most  gesticulative  ” ; but  she  was  “ also  the  most 
cultivated,  and  the  most  gifted.”  The  contrast  between  her 
French  culture  and  his  German  culture,  and  the  difficulty  he 
had  in  expressing  himself  in  French,  did  not  prevent  his  be- 
ing much  interested.  In  the  sketch  of  her  he  sent  to  Goethe 
it  is  well  said,  “ She  insists  on  explaining  everything,  under- 
standing everything,  measuring  everything.  She  admits  of 
no  Darkness,  nothing  Incommensurable ; and  where  her 
torch  throws  no  light,  there  nothing  can  exist.  Hence  her 
horror  for  the  Ideal  Philosophy,  which  she  thinks  leads  to 
mysticism  and  superstition.  For  what  we  call  poetry  she 
has  no  sense  ; she  can  only  appreciate  what  is  passionate, 
rhetorical,  universal.  She  does  not  prize  what  is  false,  but 
does  not  always  perceive  what  is  true.” 

The  Duchess  Amalia  was  enchanted  with  her,  and  the 
Duke  wrote  to  Goethe,  who  was  at  Jena,  begging  him  to 
come  over,  and  be  seen  by  her,  which  Goethe  very  positively 
declined.  He  said,  if  she  wished  very  much  to  see  him,  and 
would  come  to  Jena,  she  should  be  very  heartily  welcomed; 
a comfortable  lodging  and  a bourgeoise  table  would  be  of- 
fered her,  and  every  day  they  could  have  some  hours  together 
when  his  business  was  over ; but  he  could  not  undertake  to 
go  to  court  and  into  society ; he  did  not  feel  himself  strong 
enough.  In  the  beginning  of  1804,  however,  he  came  to 
Weimar,  and  there  he  made  her  acquaintance ; that  is  to  say, 
he  received  her  in  his  own  house,  at  first  tete-a-tUe , and  after- 
wards in  small  circles  of  friends. 

Except  when  she  managed  to  animate  him  by  her  para- 
doxes or  wit,  he  was  cold  and  formal  to  her,  even  more  so 
than  to  other  remarkable  people ; and  he  has  told  us  the 
reason.  Rousseau  had  been  drawn  into  a correspondence 
with  two  women,  who  addressed  themselves  to  him  as 
admirers ; he  had  shown  himself  in  this  correspondence  by 


352 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  VI. 


no  means  to  his  advantage,  now  (1803)  that  the  letters 
appeared  in  print.*  Goethe  had  heard  or  read  of  this  cor- 
respondence ; and  Madame  de  Stael  had  frankly  told  him 
she  intended  to  print  his  conversation. t This  was  enough 
to  make  him  ill  at  ease  in  her  society;  and  although  she 
saifl  he  was  “ un  homme  d’un  esprit  prodigieux  en  conversa- 
tion ....  quand  on  le  sait  faire  parler  il  est  admirable,”  she 
never  saw  the  real,  but  a factitious  Goethe.  By  dint  of 
provocation  — and  champagne  — she  managed  to  make  him 
talk  brilliantly ; she  never  got  him  to  talk  to  her  seriously. 
On  the  29th  of  February  she  left  Weimar,  to  the  great  relief 
both  of  Goethe  and  Schiller. 

Nothing  calls  for  notice  during  the  rest  of  this  year,  except 
the  translation  of  an  unpublished  work  by  Diderot,  Rameau's 
Nephew , and  the  commencement  of  the  admirable  work  on 
Winckelmann  and  his  Age.  The  beginning  of  1805  found 
him  troubled  with  a presentiment  that  either  he  or  Schiller 
would  die  in  this  year.  Both  were  dangerously  ill.  Chris- 
tiane,  writing  to  her  friend  Nicolaus  Meyer,  says,  that  for 
the  last  three  months  the  Geheimerath  has  scarcely  had  a 
day’s  health,  and  at  times  it  seemed  as  if  he  must  die.  It 
was  a touching  scene  when  Schiller,  a little  recovered  from 
his  last  attack,  entered  the  sick-room  of  his  friend.  They 
walked  up  to  each  other,  and,  without  speaking  a word,  ex- 
pressed their  joy  at  meeting  in  a long  and  manly  kiss.  Both 
hoped  with  the  return  of  spring  for  return  of  health  and 

* The  correspondence  alluded  to  can  be  no  other  than  that  of  Rous- 
seau with  Madame  de  la  Tour-Franqueville  and  her  friend,  whose  name 
is  still  unknown  ; it  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  among  the  many 
interesting  correspondences  of  women  with  celebrated  men.  A charming 
notice  of  it  may  be  found  in  St.  Beuve’s  Causeries  du  Lundi , Vol.  II. 

t In  the  Tag  und  Jahres  Hefte , 1804  ( Werke , XXVII.  p.  143),  the 
reader  will  find  Goethe’s  account  of  Madame  de  Stael  and  her  relation 
to  him. 


1805.] 


SCHILLER'S  LAST  YEARS \ 


353 


power.  Schiller  meanwhile  was  translating  the  Phedre  of 
Racine ; Goethe  was  translating  the  Rameau's  Ncphriv , and 
writing  the  history  of  the  Farbenlehre. 

The  spring  was  coming,  but  on  its  blossoms  Schiller’s  eyes 
were  not  to  rest.  On  the  30th  of  April  the  friends  parted  for 
the  last  time.  Schiller  was  going  to  the  theatre.  Goethe,  too 
unwell  to  accompany  him,  said  good  by  at  the  door  of  Schil- 
ler’s house.  During  Schiller’s  illness  Goethe  was  much 
depressed.  Voss  found  him  once  pacing  up  and  down  his 
garden,  crying  by  himself.  He  mastered  his  emotion  as 
Voss  told  him  of  Schiller’s  state,  and  only  said,  “ Fate  is 
pitiless,  and  man  but  little.” 

It  really  seemed  as  if  the  two  friends  were  to  be  united  in 
the  grave  as  they  had  been  in  life.  Goethe  grew  worse. 
From  Schiller  life  was  fast  ebbing.  On  the  8th  of  May  he 
was  given  over.  “ His  sleep  that  night  was  disturbed  ; his 
mind  again  wandered  ; with  the  morning  he  had  lost  all 
consciousness.  He  spoke  incoherently  and  chiefly  in  Latin. 
His  last  drink  was  champagne.  Towards  three  in  the  after- 
noon came  on  the  last  exhaustion  ; the  breath  began  to  fail. 
Towards  four  he  would  have  called  for  naphtha,  but  the  last 
syllable  died  upon  his  lips ; finding  himself  speechless,  he 
motioned  that  he  wished  to  write  something ; but  his  hand 
could  only  trace  three  letters,  in  which  was  yet  recognizable 
the  distinct  character  of  his  writing.  His  wife  knelt  by  his 
side  : he  pressed  her  hand.  His  sister-in-law  stood  with  the 
physician  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  applying  warm  cushions  to 
the  cold  feet.  Suddenly  a sort  of  electric  shock  came  over 
his  countenance  \ the  head  fell  back  ; the  deepest  calm  set- 
tled on  his  face.  His  features  were  as  those  of  one  in  a soft 
sleep. 

“ The  news  of  Schiller’s  death  soon  spread  through  Wei- 
mar. The  theatre  was  closed ; men  gathered  into  groups. 

w 


354 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [hook  vi. 


Each  felt  as  if  he  had  lost  his  dearest  friend.  To  Goethe, 
enfeebled  himself  by  long  illness,  and  again  stricken  by  some 
relapse,  no  one  had  the  courage  to  mention  the  death  of  his 
beloved  rival.  When  the  tidings  came  to  Henry  Meyer,  who 
was  with  him,  Meyer  left  the  house  abruptly  lest  his  grief 
might  escape  him.  No  one  else  had  courage  to  break  the 
intelligence.  Goethe  perceived  that  the  members  of  his 
household  seemed  embarrassed  and  anxious  to*  avoid  him. 
He  divined  something  of  the  fact,  and  said  at  last,  * I see  — 
Schiller  must  be  very  ill.*  That  night  they  overheard  him,  — 
the  serene  man  who  seemed  almost  above  human  affection, 
who  disdained  to  reveal  to  others  whatever  grief  he  felt  when, 
his  son  died,  — they  overheard  Goethe  weep!  In  the  morn- 
ing he  said  to  a friend,  * Is  it  not  true  that  Schiller  was  very 
ill  yesterday  ? ’ The  friend  (it  was  a woman)  sobbed.  ‘ He 
is  dead,’  said  Goethe  faintly.  1 You  have  said  it,’  was  the 
answer.  £ He  is  dead,’  repeated  Goethe,  and  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands.”  * 

“ The  half  of  my  existence  is  gone  from  me,”  he  wrote  to 
Zelter.  His  first  thoughts  were  to  continue  the  Demetrius  in 
the  spirit  in  which  Schiller  had  planned  it,  so  that  Schiller’s 
mind  might  still  be  with  him,  still  working  at  his  side.  But 
the  effort  was  vain.  He  could  do  nothing.  “ My  diary,”  he 
says,  “ is  a blank  at  this  period  ; the  white  pages  intimate  the 
blank  in  my  existence.  In  those  days  I took  no  interest  in 
anything.” 


* Bulwer’s  Life  of  Schiller. 


BOOK  THE  SEVENTH. 

1805  TO  1832. 


CHAPTFR  I. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  JENA. 

The  death  of  Schiller  left  Goethe  very  lonely.  It  was  more 
than  the  loss  of  a friend  ; it  was  the  loss  also  of  an  energetic 
stimulus  which  had  urged  him  to  production  ; and  in  the 
activity  of  production  he  lived  an  intenser  life.  During  the 
long  laborious  years  which  followed,  — years  of  accumulation, 
of  study,  of  fresh  experience,  and  of  varied  plans,  — we  shall 
see  him  produce  works  of  which  many  might  be  proud  ; but 
the  noonday  splendor  of  his  life  has  passed,  and  the  light 
which  we  admire  is  the  calm  effulgence  of  the  setting  sun. 
During  the  following  month,  Gall  visited  Jena,  in  the  first 
successful  eagerness  of  propagating  his  system  of  phrenology, 
which  was  then  a startling  novelty.  All  who  acknowledge 
the  very  large  debt  which  physiology  and  psychology  owe  to 
Gall’s  labors  (which  acknowledgment  by  no  means  implies 
an  acceptance  of  the  premature,  and,  in  many  respects, 
imperfect,  system  founded  on  those  labors)  will  be  glad  to 
observe  that  Goethe  not  only  attended  Gall’s  lectures,  but  in 
private  conversations  showed  so  much  sympathy,  and  such 
ready  appreciation,  that  Gall  visited  him  in  his  sick-room, 
and  dissected  the  brain  in  his  presence,  communicating  all 
the  new  views  to  which  he  had  been  led.  Instead  of  meet- 
ing this  theory  with  ridicule,  contempt,  and  the  opposition  of 
ancient  prejudices,  — as  men  of  science,  no  less  than  men  of 


356 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  vii. 


the  world,  were  and  are  still  wont  to  meet  it,  — Goethe  saw 
at  once  the  importance  of  Gall’s  mode  of  dissection  (since 
generally  adopted),  and  of  his  leading  views  ;*  although  he 
also  saw  that  science  was  not  sufficiently  advanced  for  a 
correct  verdict  to  be  delivered.  Gall’s  doctrine  pleased  him 
because  it  determined  the  true  position  of  psychology  in  the 
study  of  man.  It  pleased  him  because  it  connected  man 
with  Nature  more  intimately  than  was  done  in  the  old 
schools,  showing  the  identity  of  all  mental  manifestation  in 
the  animal  kingdom. t 

But  these  profound  and  delicate  investigations  were  in  the 
following  year  interrupted  by  the  roar  of  cannon.  On  the 
14th  of  October,  at  seven  o’clock  in  the  morning,  the  thunder 
of  distant  artillery  alarmed  the  inhabitants  of  Weimar.  The 
battle  of  Jena  had  begun.  Goethe  heard  the  cannon  with 
terrible  distinctness  ; but  as  it  slackened  towards  noon,  he  sat 
down  to  dinner  as  usual.  Scarcely  had  he  sat  down,  when 
the  cannon  burst  over  their  heads.  Immediately  the  table 
was  cleared.  Riemer  found  him  walking  up  and  down  the 
garden.  The  balls  whirled  over  the  house  ; the  bayonets  of 
the  Prussians  in  flight  gleamed  over  the  garden  wall.  The 
French  had  planted  a few  guns  on  the  heights  above  Weimar, 
from  which  they  could  fire  on  the  town.  It  was  a calm  bright 
day.  In  the  streets  everything  appeared  dead.  Every  one 
had  retreated  under  cover.  Now  and  then  the  boom  of  a 
cannon  broke  silence  ; the  balls,  hissing  through  the  air, 
occsionally  struck  a house.  The  birds  were  singing  sweetly 
on  the  esplanade  ; and  the  deep  repose  of  nature  formed  an 
awful  contrast  to  the  violence  of  war.  ’ 

* Compare  Freunds chaftliche  Briefe  von  Goethe  und  seine  Frau  an  N. 
Meyer , p.  19. 

t Gall’s  assertion  that  Goethe  was  born  for  political  Oratory  more 
than  for  Poetry  has  much  amused  those  who  know  Goethe’s  dislike  of 
politics  ; and  does  not,  indeed,  seem  a very  happy  hit. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  JENA. 


357 


1806.] 

In  the  midst  of  this  awful  stillness  a few  French  hussars 
rode  into  the  city,  to  ascertain  if  the  enemy  were  there. 
Presently  a whole  troop  galloped  in.  A young  officer  came 
to  Goethe  to  assure  him  that  his  house  would  be  secure  from 
pillage  ; it  had  been  selected  as  the  quarters  of  Marshal 
Augereau.  The  young  hussar  who  brought  this  message  was 
Lili’s  son  ! He  accompanied  Goethe  to  the  palace.  Mean- 
while several  of  the  troopers  had  made  themselves  at  home  in 
Goethe’s  house.  Many  houses  were  in  flames.  Cellars  were 
broken  open.  The  pillage  began. 

Goethe  returned  from  the  palace,  but  without  the  Marshal, 
who  had  not  yet  arrived.  They  waited  for  him  till  deep  in 
the  night.  The  doors  were  bolted  and  the  family  retired  to 
rest.  About  midnight  two  tirailleurs  knocked  at  the  door  and 
insisted  on  admittance.  In  vain  they  were  told  the  house 
was  full,  and  the  Marshal  expected.  They  threatened  to 
break  in  the  windows,  if  the  door  were  not  opened.  They 
were  admitted.  Wine  was  set  before  them,  which  they  drank 
like  troopers,  and  then  they  insisted  on  seeing  their  host 
They  were  told  he  was  in  bed.  No  matter ; he  must  get  up ; 
they  had  a fancy  to  see  him.  In  such  cases,  resistance  is 
futile.  Riemer  went  up  and  told  Goethe,  who,  putting  on  his 
dressing-gown,  came  majestically  down  stairs,  and  by  his 
presence  considerably  awed  his  drunken  guests,  who  were  as 
polite  as  French  soldiers  can  be  when  they  please.  They 
talked  to  him  ; made  him  drink  with  them,  with  friendly  clink 
of  glasses ; and  suffered  him  to  retire  once  more  to  his  room. 
In  a little  while,  however,  heated  with  wine,  they  insisted  on 
a bed.  The  other  troopers  were  glad  of  the  floor  ; but  these 
two  would  have  nothing  less  than  a bed.  They  stumbled  up 
stairs;  broke  into  Goethe’s  room,  and  there  a struggle  ensued, 
which  had  a very  serious  aspect.  Christiane,  who  throughout 
displayed  great  courage  and  presence  of  mind,  procured  a 


358 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


rescue,  and  the  intruders  were  finally  dragged  from  the  room. 
They  then  threw  themselves  on  the  bed  kept  for  the  Marshal ; 
and  no  threats  would  move  them.  In  the  morning  the  Mar- 
shal arrived,  and  sentinels  protected  the  house.  But  even 
under  this  protection,  the  disquiet  may  be  imagined  when  we 
read  that  twelve  casks  of  wine  were  drunk  in  three  days ; 
that  eight-and-twenty  beds  were  made  up  for  officers  and  sol- 
diers, and  that  the  other  costs  of  this  billeting  amounted  to 
more  than  2,000  dollars. 

The  sun  shining  with  continuous  autumnal  splendor  in 
these  days  looked  down  on  terrible  scenes  in  Weimar.  The 
pillage  was  prolonged,  so  that  even  the  palace  was  almost 
stripped  of  the  necessaries  of  life.  In  this  extremity,  while 
houses  were  in  flames  close  to  the  palace,  the  Duchess  Luise 
manifested  that  dauntless  courage  which  produced  a profound 
impression  on  Napoleon,  as  he  entered  Weimar,  surrounded 
by  all  the  terrors  of  conquest,  and  was  received  at  the  top  of 
the  palace  stairs  by  her,  — calm,  dignified,  unmoved.  “ Voild 
une  femme  a laquelle  meme  nos  deux  cent  canons  n'ont  pu  faire 
peur !”  he  said  to  Rapp.  She  pleaded  for  her  people;  vin- 
dicated her  husband  ; and  by  her  constancy  and  courage  pre- 
vailed over  the  conquerer,  who  was  deeply  incensed  with  the 
Duke,  and  repeatedly  taunted  him  with  the  fact  that  he 
spared  him  solely  out  of  respect  for  the  Duchess. 

The  rage  of  Napoleon  against  tjjie  Duke  was  as  unwise  as 
it  was  intemperate ; but  I do  not  allude  to  it  for  the  purpose 
of  showing  how  petty  the  great  conqueror  could  be ; I allude  to 
it  for  the  purpose  of  quoting  the  characteristic  outburst  which 
it  drew  from  Goethe.  “ Formed  by  nature  to  be  a calm  and 
impartial  spectator  of  events,  even  I am  exasperated,”  said 
Goethe  to  Falk,  “ when  I see  men  required  to  perform  the 
impossible.  That  the  Duke  assists  wounded  Prussian  officers 
robbed  of  their  pay ; that  he  lent  the  lion  hearted  Blucher 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  JENA. 


359 


1806.] 

four  thousand  dollars  after  the  battle  of  Liibeck,  — that  is 
what  you  call  a conspiracy  ! — that  seems  to  you  a fit  subject 
for  reproach  and  accusation  ! Let  us  suppose  that  to-day 
misfortune  befalls  the  grand  army  ; what  would  a general  or 
a field-marshal  be  worth  in  the  Emperor’s  eyes,  who  would 
act  precisely  as  our  Duke  has  acted  under  these  circumstan- 
ces ? I tell  you  the  Duke  shall  act  as  he  acts ! He  must  act 
so  ! He  would  do  great  injustice  if  he  ever  acted  otherwise! 
Yes ; and  even  were  he  thus  to  lose  country  and  subjects, 
crown  and  sceptre,  like  his  ancestor,  the  unfortunate  John  ; 
yet  must  he  not  deviate  one  hand’s  breadth  from  his  noble 
manner  of  thinking,  and  from  that  which  the  duty  of  a man 
and  a prince  prescribes  in  the  emergency.  Misfortune ! 
What  is  misfortune  ? This  is  a misfortune,  — that  a prince 
should  be  compelled  to  endure  such  things  from  foreigners. 
And  if  it  came  to  the  same  pass  with  him  as  with  his  ancestor, 
Duke  John,  — if  his  ruin  were  certain  and  irretrievable,  let  not 
that  dismay  us  : we  will  take  our  staff  in  our  hands,  and 
accompany  our  master  in  adversity,  as  old  Lucas  Kranach 
did  : we  will  never  forsake  him.  The  women  and  children, 
when  they  meet  us  in  the  villages,  will  cast  down  their  eyes 
and  weep,  and  say  to  one  another,  ‘ That  is  old  Goethe,  and 
the  former  Duke  of  Weimar,  whom  the  French  Emperor 
drove  from  his  throne,  because  he  was  so  true  to  his  friends 
in  misfortune  ; because  he  visited  his  uncle  on  his  death-bed  ; 
because  he  would  not  let  his  old  comrades  and  brothers  in 
arms  starve  ! ’ ” 

“ At  this,”  adds  Falk,  “ the  tears  rolled  in  streams  down  his 
cheeks.  After  a pause,  having  recovered  himself  a little,  he 
continued  : ‘ I will  sing  for  bread  ! I will  turn  strolling  ballad- 
singer,  and  put  our  misfortunes  into  verse  ! I will  wander 
into  every  village  and  into  every  school  wherever  the  name  of 
Goethe  is  known  ; I will  chant  the  dishonor  of  Germany,  and 


360  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 

the  children  shall  learn  the  song  of  our  shame  till  they  are 
men  ; and  thus  they  shall  sing  my  master  upon  his  throne 
again,  and  yours  off  his  ! ’ ” 

I shall  have  to  recur  to  this  outburst  on  a future  occasion, 
and  will  now  hasten  to  the  important  event  which  is  generally 
supposed  to  have  been  directly  occasioned  by  the  perils  of  the 
battle  of  Jena.  I mean  his  marriage. 


CHAPTER  II. 

goethe’s  wife. 

The  judgments  of  men  are  curious.  No  action  in  Aris- 
totle’s life  subjected  him  to  more  calumny  than  his  generous 
marriage  with  the  friendless  Phythia  ; no  action  in  Goethe’s  life 
has  excited  more  scandal  than  his  marriage  with  Christiane. 
It  was  thought  disgraceful  enough  in  him  to  have  taken  her 
into  his  house  (a  liaison  out  of  the  house  seeming,  in  the  eyes 
of  the  world,  a venial  error,  which  becomes  serious  directly  it 
approaches  nearer  to  the  condition  of  marriage) ; but  for  the 
great  poet  actually  to  complete  such  an  enormity  as  to  crown 
his  connection  with  Christiane  by  a legal  sanction,  Ihis  was 
indeed  more  than  society  could  tolerate. 

I have  already  expressed  my  opinion  of  this  unfortunate 
connection,  a \iesalliance  in  every  sense ; but  I must  emphat- 
ically declare  my  belief  that  the  redeeming  point  in  it  is  pre- 
cisely that  which  has  created  the  scandal.  Better  far  had 
there  been  no  connection  at  all ; but  if  it  was  to  be,  the  nearer 
it  approached  a real  marriage,  and  the  further  it  was  removed 
from  a fugitive  indulgence,  the  more  moral  and  healthy  it 
became.  The  fact  of  the  mesalliance  was  not  to  be  got  over. 
Had  he  married  her  at  first,  this  would  always  have  existed. 


i8o6] 


GOETHE'S  WIFE. 


361 


But  many  other  and  darker  influences  would  have  been 
averted.  There  would  have  been  no  such  “ skeleton  in  the 
closet  of  his  life  ” as,  unfortunately,  we  know  to  have  existed. 
Let  us  for  a moment  look  into  that  closet. 

Since  we  last  caught  a glimpse  of  Christiane  Vulpius,  some 
fifteen  years  have  elapsed,  in  the  course  of  which  an  unhappy 
change  has  taken  place.  She  was  then  a bright,  lively, 
pleasure-loving  girl.  Years  and  self-indulgence  have  now 
made  havoc  with  her  charms.  The  evil  tendency,  which 
youth  and  animal  spirits  kept  within  excess,  has  asserted  itself 
with  a distinctness  which  her  birth  and  circumstances  may 
explain,  if  not  excuse,  but  which  can  only  be  contemplated  in 
sadness.  Her  father,  we  know,  ruined  himself  by  intemper- 
ance; her  brother  impaired  fine  talents  by  similar  excess;  and 
Christiane,  who  inherited  the  fatal  disposition,  was  not  saved 
from  it  by  the  checks  which  refined  society  imposes,  for  in 
Weimar  she  was  shut  out  from  society  by  her  relation  to 
Goethe.  Elsewhere,  as  we  learn  from  her  letters  to  Meyer, 
she  was  not  quite  excluded  from  female  society.  Professor 
Wolff  and  Kapellmeister  Beichardt  presented  her  to  their 
daughters  ; and  she  danced  at  public  balls.  But  in  Weimar 
this  was  impossible.  There  she  lived  secluded,  shunned,  and 
had  to  devote  herself  wholly  to  her  domestic  duties,  which  for 
one  so  lively  and  so  eager  for  society  must  have  had  a de- 
pressing influence.  Fond  of  gayety,  and  especially  of  dancing, 
she  was  often  seen  at  the  students’  balls  at  Jena;  and  she 
accustomed  herself  to  an  indulgence  in  wine,  which  rapidly 
destroyed  her  beauty,  and  which  was  sometimes  the  cause  of 
serious  domestic  troubles.  I would  fain  have  passed  over  this 
episode  in  silence  : but  it  is  too  generally  known  to  be  ignored; 
and  it  suggests  a tragedy  in  Goethe’s  life  little  suspected  by 
those  who  saw  how  calmly  he  bore  himself  in  public.  The  mere 
mention  of  such  a fact  at  once  suggests  the  conflict  of  feelings 
16 


362 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vir. 


hidden  from  public  gaze;  the  struggle  of  indignation  with 
pity,  of  resolution  with  weakness.  I have  discovered  but  one 
printed  indication  of  this  domestic  grief,  and  that  is  in  a let- 
ter from  Schiller  to  Korner,  dated  21st  October,  1800.  “On 
the  whole  he  produces  very  little  now,  rich  as  he  still  is  in  in- 
vention and  execution.  His  spirit  is  not  sufficiently  at  ease  ; 
his  wretched  domestic  circumstances,  which  he  is  too  weak 
to  alter,  make  him  so  unhappy.” 

Too  weak  to  alter  ! Yes,  there  lies  the  tragedy,  and  there 
the  explanation.  Tender,  and  always  shrinking  from  inflict- 
ing pain,  he  had  not  the  sternness  necessary  to  put  an  end  to 
such  a condition.  He  suffered  so  much  because  he  could 
not  inflict  suffering.  To  the  bystander  such  endurance 
seems  inexplicable ; for  the  bystander  knows  not  how  the 
insidious  first  steps  are  passed  over,  and  how  endurance 
strengthens  with  repeated  trials ; he  knows  nothing  of  those 
hopes  of  a change  which  check  violent  resolutions ; nor  how 
affection  prompts  and  cherishes  such  hopes  against  all  evi- 
dence. The  bystander  sees  certain  broad  facts,  which  are  in- 
explicable to  him  only  because  he  does  not  see  the  many 
subtle  links  which  bind  those  facts  together ; he  does  not  see 
the  mind  of  the  sufferer  struggling  against  a growing  evil,  and 
finally  resigning  itself,  and  trying  to  put  a calm  face  on  the 
matter.  It  is  easy  for  us  to  say,  Why  did  not  Goethe  part 
from  her  at  once  ? But  parting  was  not  easy.  She  was  the 
mother  of  his  child  ; she  had  been  the  mistress  of  his  heart, 
and  still  was  dear  to  him.  To  part  from  her  would  not  have 
arrested  the  fatal  tendency  ; it  would  only  have  accelerated  it. 
He  was  too  weak  to  alter  his  position.  He  was  strong 
enough  to  bear  it.  Schiller  divined  this  by  his  own  moral  in- 
stincts. “ I wish,”  he  writes  in  a recently  discovered  letter, 
“that  I could  justify  Goethe  in  respect  to  his  domestic  rela- 
tions as  I can  confidently  in  all  points  respecting  literature 


COETHE'S  WIFE. 


363 


1806.] 

and  social  life.  But  unfortunately,  by  some  false  notions  of 
domestic  happiness,  and  an  unlucky  aversion  to  marriage,  he 
has  entered  upon  an  engagement  which  weighs  upon  him  in 
his  domestic  circle,  and  makes  him  unhappy,  yet  to  shake 
off  which,  I am  sorry  to  say,  he  is  too  weak  and  soft-hearted. 
This  is  the  only  shortcoming  in  him  ; but  even  this  is  closely 
connected  with  a very  noble  part  of  his  character,  and  he 
hurts  no  one  but  himself.” 

And  thus  the  years  rolled  on.  Her  many  good  qualities 
absolved  her  few  bad  qualities.  He  was  sincerely  attached 
to  her,  and  she  was  devoted  to  him ; and  now,  in  his  fifty- 
eighth  year,  when  the  troubles  following  the  battle  of  Jena 
made  him  “ feel  the  necessity  of  drawing  all  friends  closer,” 
who,  among  those  friends,  deserved  a nearer  place  than 
Christiane  ? He  resolved  on  marrying  her. 

It  is  not  known  whether  this  thought  of  marriage  had  for 
some  time  previous  been  in  contemplation,  and  was  now  put 
in  execution  when  Weimar  was  too  agitated  to  trouble  itself 
with  his  doings  ; or  whether  the  desire  of  legitimizing  his  son 
in  these  troublous  days  suggested  the  idea.  Riemer  thinks 
the  motive  was  gratitude  for  her  courageous  and  prudent  con- 
duct during  the  troubles  ; but  I do  not  think  that  explanation 
acceptable,  the  more  so  as,  according  to  her  own  statement, 
marriage  was  proposed  in  the  early  years  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. In  the  absence  of  positive  testimony,  I am  disposed  to 
rely  on  psychological  evidence  ; and,  assuming  that  the  idea 
of  marriage  had  been  previously  entertained,  the  delay  in 
execution  is  explicable  when  we  are  made  aware  of  one 
peculiarity  in  his  nature,  namely,  a singular  hesitation  in 
adopting  any  decisive  course  of  action,  — singular  in  a man 
so  resolute  and  imperious  when  once  his  decision  had  been 
made.  This  is  the  weakness  of  imaginative  men.  However 
strong  the  volition,  when  once  it  is  set  going,  there  is  in  men 


364 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHES  LIFE.  [book  vit. 


of  active  intellects,  and  especially  in  men  of  imaginative, 
apprehensive  intellects,  a fluctuation  of  motives  keeping  the 
volition  in  abeyance,  which  practically  amounts  to  weakness, 
and  is  only  distinguished  from  weakness  by  the  strength  of 
the  volition  when  let  loose.  Goethe,  who  was  aware  of  this 
peculiarity,  used  to  attribute  it  to  his  never  having  been 
placed  in  circumstances  which  required  prompt  resolutions, 
and  to  his  not  having  educated  his  will  ; but  I believe  the 
cause  lay  much  deeper,  lying  in  the  nature  of  psychological 
actions,  not  in  the  accidents  of  education. 

But  be  the  cause  of  the  delay  this  or  any  other,  it  is 
certain  that  on  the  19th  of  October,  i.  e.  five  days  after  the 
battle  of  Jena,  and  not,  as  writers  constantly  report,  “ during 
the  cannonade,”  he  was  united  to  Christiane,  in  the  presence 
of  his  son,  and  of  his  secretary,  Riemer. 

The  scandal  which  this  act  of  justice  excited  was  immense, 
as  may  readily  be  guessed  by  those  who  know  the  world. 
His  friends,  however,  loudly  applauded  his  emergence  from 
a false  position.  From  that  time  forward,  no  one  who  did 
not  treat  her  with  proper  respect  could  hope  to  be  well 
received  by  him.  She  bore  her  new-made  honors  unobtru- 
sively, and  with  a quiet  good  sense,  which  managed  to 
secure  the  hearty  good-will  of  most  of  those  who  knew  her- 


CHAPTER  III. 

BETTINA  AND  NAPOLEON. 

It  is  very  characteristic  that  during  the  terror  and  the 
pillage  of  Weimar,  Goethe’s  greatest  anxiety  on  his  own 
account  was  lest  his  scientific  manuscripts  should  be 
destroyed.  Wine,  plate,  furniture,  could  be  replaced  ; but 


8o7.] 


BETTINA  AND  NAPOLEON. 


365 


to  lose  his  manuscripts  was  to  lose  what  was  irreparable. 
Herder’s  posthumous  manuscripts  were  destroyed  ; Meyer 
lost  everything,  even  his  sketches  : but  Goethe  lost  nothing, 
except  wine  and  money.* 

The  Duke,  commanded  by  Prussia  to  submit  to  Napoleon, 
laid  down  his  arms  and  returned  to  Weimar,  there  to  be 
received  with  the  enthusiastic  love  of  his  people,  as  some 
compensation  for  the  indignities  he  had  endured.  Peace 
was  restored.  Weimar  breathed  again.  Goethe  availed 
himself  of  the  quiet  to  print  his  Farbenlehre  and  Faust , that 
they  might  be  rescued  from  any  future  peril.  He  also  began 
to  meditate  once  more  an  epic  on  William  Tell ; but  the 
death  of  the  Duchess  Amalia  on  the  10th  April  drove  the 
subject  from  his  mind. 

On  the  23d  of  April  Bettina  came  to  Weimar.  We  must 
pause  awhile  to  consider  this  strange  figure,  who  fills  a larger 
space  in  the  literary  history  of  the  nineteenth  century  than 
any  other  German  woman.  Every  one  knows  “ the  Child  ” 
Bettina  Brentano,  — daughter  of  the  Maximiliane  Brentano 
with  whom  Goethe  flirted  at  Frankfurt  in  the  Werther  days, 

— wife  of  Achim  von  Arnim,  the  fantastic  Romanticist, 

— the  worshipper  of  Goethe  and  Beethoven,  — for  some 
time  the  privileged  favorite  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  — and 
writer  of  that  wild,  but  un veracious  book,  Goethds  Correspond- 
ence with  a Child.  She  is  one  of  those  phantasts  to  whom 
everything  seems  permitted.  More  elf  than  woman,  yet  with 
flashes  of  genius  which  light  up  in  splendor  whole  chapters 
of  nonsense,  she  defies  criticism,  and  puts  every  verdict  at 

* It  is  at  once  ludicrous  and  sad  to  mention  that  even  this  has  been 
the  subject  of  malevolent  sneers  against  him.  His  antagonists  cannot 
forgive  him  the  good  fortune  which  saved  his  house  from  pillage,  when 
the  houses  of  others  were  ransacked.  They  seem  to  think  it  a myste- 
rious result  of  his  selfish  calculations  ! 


366 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE1  S LIFE.  [book  vii. 


fault.  If  you  are  grave  with  her,  people  shrug  their  shoul- 
ders, and  saying,  “ She  is  a Brentano,”  consider  all  settled. 
“At  the  point  where  the  folly  of  others  ceases,  the  folly  of 
the  Brentanos  begins,”  runs  the  proverb  in  Germany. 

I do  not  wish  to  be  graver  with  Bettina  than  the  occasion 
demands  ; but  while  granting  fantasy  its  widest  license,  while 
grateful  to  her  for  the  many  picturesque  anecdotes  she  has 
preserved  from  the  conversation  of  Goethe’s  mother,  I must 
consider  the  history  of  her  relation  to  Goethe  seriously, 
because  out  of  it  has  arisen  a charge  against  his  memory 
which  is  very  false  and  injurious.  Many  unsuspecting  read- 
ers of  her  book,  whatever  they  may  think  of  the  passionate 
expressions  of  her  love  for  Goethe,  whatever  they  may  think 
of  her  demeanor  towards  him,  on  first  coming  into  his  pres- 
ence, feel  greatly  hurt  at  his  coldness  ; while  others  are  still 
more  indignant  with  him  for  keeping  alive  this  mad  passion, 
feeding  it  with  poems  and  compliments,  and  doing  this  out 
of  a selfish  calculation,  in  order  that  he  might  gather  from  her 
letters  materials  for  his  poems  ! In  both  these  views  there  is 
complete  misconception  of  the  actual  case.  True  it  is,  that 
the  Correspondence  furnishes  ample  evidence  for  both  opin- 
ions ; and  against  that  evidence  there  is  but  one  fact  to  be 
opposed,  but  the  fact  is  decisive  : the  Correspondence  is  a 
romance. 

A harsher  phrase  would  be  applied  were  the  offender  a 
man,  or  not  a Brentano ; for  the  romance  is  put  forward  as 
biographical  fact,  not  as  fiction  playing  around  and  among 
fact.  How  much  is  true,  how  much  exaggeration,  and  how 
much  pure  invention,  I am  in  no  position  to  explain.  But 
Riemer,  the  old  and  trusted  friend  of  Goethe,  living  in  the 
house  with  him  at  the  time  of  Bettina’s  arrival,  has  shown 
the  Correspondence  to  be  a “ romance  which  has  only  bor- 
rowed from  reality  the  time,  place,  and  circumstances  ” ; and 


1807.]  BETTINA  AND  NAPOLEON  367 

from  other  sources  I have  learned  enough  to  see  both 
Goethe’s  conduct  and  her  own  in  quite  a different  light  from 
that  presented  in  her  work. 

A young,  ardent,  elfin  creature  worships  the  great  poet  at 
a distance,  writes  to  tell  him  so,  is  attentive  to  his  mother, 
who  gladly  hears  praises  of  her  son,  and  is  glad  to  talk  of 
him.  He  is  struck  with  her  extraordinary  mind,  is  grateful 
to  her  for  the  attentions  to  his  mother,  and  writes  as  kindly 
as  he  can  without  compromising  himself.  She  comes  to  Wei- 
mar. She  falls  into  his  arms,  and,  according  to  her  not  very 
credible  account,  goes  to  sleep  in  his  lap  on  their  first  inter- 
view ; and  ever  afterwards  is  ostentatious  of  her  adoration 
and  her  jealousy.  If  the  story  is  true,  the  position  was  very 
embarrassing  for  Goethe  : a man  aged  fifty-eight  worshipped 
by  a girl  who,  though  a woman  in  years,  looked  like  a child, 
and  worshipped  with  the  extravagance,  partly  mad,  and  partly 
wilful,  of  a Brentano,  — what  could  he  do  ? He  could  take 
a base  advantage  of  her  passion ; he  could  sternly  repress 
it ; or  he  could  smile  at  it,  and  pat  her  head  as  one  pats  a 
whimsical,  amusing  child.  These  three  courses  were  open 
to  him,  and  only  these.  He  adopted  the  last,  until  she 
forced  him  to  adopt  the  second  ; forced  him  by  the  very 
impetuosity  of  her  adoration.  At  first  the  child’s  coquettish, 
capricious  ways  amused  him;  her  bright-glancing  intellect 
interested  him ; but  when  her  demonstrations  became  obtru- 
sive and  fatiguing,  she  had  to  be  “ called  to  order  ” so  often, 
that  at  last  his  patience  was  fairly  worn  out.  The  continua- 
tion of  such  a relation  was  obviously  impossible.  She  gave 
herself  the  license  of  a child,  and  would  not  be  treated  as  a 
child.  She  fatigued  him. 

Riemer  relates  that  during  this  very  visit  she  complained 
to  him  of  Goethe’s  coldness.  This*  coldness,  he  rightly  says, 
was  simply  patience ; a patience  which  held  out  with  diffi- 


368  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  VII. 

culty  against  such  assaults.  Bettina  quitted  Weimar,  to  re- 
turn in  1811,  when  by  her  own  conduct  she  gave  him  a 
reasonable  pretext  for  breaking  off  the  connection  ; a pre- 
text, I am  assured,  he  gladly  availed  himself  of.  It  was  this. 
She  went  one  day  with  Goethe’s  wife  to  the  Exhibition  of 
Art,  in  which  Goethe  took  great  interest ; and  there  her  satir- 
ical remarks,  especially  on  Meyer,  offended  Christiane,  who 
spoke  sharply  to  her.  High  words  rose,  gross  insult  fol- 
lowed. Goethe  took  the  side  of  his  insulted  wife,  and 
forbade  Bettina  the  house.  It  was  in  vain  that  on  a sub- 
sequent visit  to  Weimar  she  begged  Goethe  to  receive 
her.  He  was  resolute.  He  had  put  an  end  to  a relation  which 
could  not  be  a friendship,  and  was  only  an  embarrass- 
ment.* 

Such  being  the  real  story,  as  far  as  I can  disentangle  it,  we 
have  now  to  examine  the  authenticity  of  the  Correspondence,  in 
as  far  as  it  gives  support  to  the  two  charges  : first,  of  Goethe’s 
alternate  coldness  and  tenderness ; second,  of  his  using  her 
letters  as  material  for  his  poems.  That  he  was  ever  tender  to 
her,  is  denied  by  Riemer,  who  pertinently  asks  how  we  are  to 
believe  that  the  coldness  of  which  she  complained  during  her 
visit  to  Weimar  grew  in  her  absence  to  the  lover-like  warmth 
glowing  in  the  sonnets  addressed  to  her?  This  is  not  credi- 
ble ; but  the  mystery  is  explained  by  Riemer’s  distinct  denial 
that  the  sonnets  were  addressed  to  her.  They  were  sent  to 
her,  as  to  other  friends ; but  the  poems,  which  she  says  were 
inspired  by  her,  were  in  truth  written  for  another.  The 
proof  is  very  simple.  These  sonnets  were  written  before  she 

* I give  this  story  as  it  was  told  me,  by  an  authority  quite  unexcep- 
tionable ; nevertheless,  in  all  such  narratives  there  is  generally  some 
inaccuracy,  even  when  relating  to  contemporary  events,  and  the  details 
above  given  may  not  be  absolutely  precise,  although  the  net  result  cer- 
tainly is  there  expressed. 


8o8.] 


BETTINA  AND  NAPOLEON. 


369 


came  to  Weimar,  and  had  already  passed  through  Riemer’s 
hands,  like  other  works,  for  his  supervision.  Riemer,  more- 
over, knew  to  whom  these  passionate  sonnets  were  addressed, 
although  he  did  not  choose  to  name  her.  I have  no  such 
cause  for  concealment,  and  declare  the  sonnets  to  have  been 
addressed  to  Minna  Herzlieb,  of  whom  we  shall  hear  more 
presently ; as  indeed  the  charade  on  her  name,  which  closes 
the  series  ( Herz-Lieh ),  plainly  indicates.  Not  only  has  Bet' 
tina  appropriated  the  sonnets  which  were  composed  at  Jena 
while  Riemer  was  with  Goethe,  and  inspired  by  one  living  at 
Jena,  but  she  has  also  appropriated  poems  known  by  Riemer 
to  have  been  written  in  1813-1819,  she  then  being  the  wife  of 
Achim  von  Arnim,  and  having  since  18 n been  resolutely  ex- 
cluded from  Goethe’s  house.  To  shut  your  door  against  a 
woman,  and  yet  write  love-verses  to  her,  — to  respond  so 
coldly  to  her  demonstrations  that  she  complains  of  it,  and 
yet  pour  forth  sonnets  throbbing  with  passion,  — is  a course  of 
conduct  certainly  not  credible  on  evidence  such  as  the  Cor- 
respondence with  a Child.  Hence  we  are  the  less  surprised  to 
find  Riemer  declaring  that  some  of  her  letters  are  “little 
more  than  meta-  and  para-  phrases  of  Goethe’s  poems,  in  which 
both  rhythm  and  rhyme  are  still  traceable .”  So  that  instead  of 
Goethe  turning  her  letters  into  poems,  Riemer  accuses  her  of 
turning  Goethe’s  poems  into  her  letters.  An  accusation  so 
public  and  so  explicit  — an  accusation  which  ruined  the 
whole  authenticity  of  the  Correspondence — should  at  once 
have  been  answered.  The  production  of  the  originals  with 
their  postmarks  might  have  silenced  accusers.  But  the  ac- 
cusation has  been  many  years  before  the  world,  and  no 
answer  attempted. 

Although  the  main  facts  had  already  been  published,  a loud 
uproar  followed  the  first  appearance  of  this  chapter  in  Ger- 
many. Some  ardent  friend  of  Bettina’s  opened  fire  upon  me 
16* 


x 


370 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  vii. 


in  a pamphlet,*  which  called  forth  several  replies  in  news- 
papers and  journals  ;t  and  I believe  there  are  few  Germans 
who  now  hesitate  to  acknowledge  that  the  whole  corre- 
spondence has  been  so  tampered  with  as  to  have  become, 
from  first  to  last,  a romance.  For  the  sake  of  any  still 
unconvinced  partisans  in  England,  a few  evidences  of  the 
manipulation  which  the  correspondence  has  undergone  may 
not  be  without  interest. 

In  the  letter  bearing  date  ist  March,  1807,  we  read  of  the 
King  of  Westphalia’s  court,  when,  unless  History  be  a liar, 
the  kingdom  of  Westphalia  was  not  even  in  existence.  Goethe’s 
mother,  in  another  letter,  speaks  of  her  delight  at  Napoleon’s 
appearance,  — four  months  before  she  is  known  to  have  set 
eyes  upon  him.  The  letters  of  Goethe,  from  November  to 
September,  all  imply  that  he  was  at  Weimar ; nay,  he  invites 
her  to  Weimar  on  the  16th  July;  she  arrives  there  at  the 
end  of  the  month;  visits  him,  and  on  the  16th  August  he 
writes  to  her  from  thence.  Diintzer  truly  says,  that  these 
letters  must  be  spurious,  since  Goethe  left  for  Karlsbad  on 
the  25th  May,  and  did  not  return  till  September.  Not  only 
does  Bettina  visit  Goethe  at  Weimar  at  a time  when  he  is 
known  to  have  been  in  Bohemia,  but  she  actually  receives 
letters  from  his  mother  dated  the  21st  September  and  7 th 
October,  1808,  although  the  old  lady  died  on  the  13th  Sep- 
tember. One  may  .Overlook  Bettina’s  intimating  that  she  was 
only  thirteen,  when  the  parish  register  proves  her  to  have 
been  two-and-twenty ; but  it  is  impossible  to  place  the 
slightest  reliance  on  the  veracity  of  a book  which  exhibits 
flagrant  and  careless  disregard  of  facts ; and  if  I have  been 

* An  G.  H.  Lewes , Eine  Epistel  von  Heinrich  Siegfried.  Berlin, 
1858. 

t See  in  particular  the  article  by  Duentzer,  Allgememe  Zcitung , 
April  20,  1858. 


i8oS.J 


BETTJNA  AND  NAPOLEON. 


371 


somewhat  merciless  in  the  exposure  of  this  fabrication,  it  is 
because  it  has  greatly  helped  to  desseminate  very  false  views 
respecting  a very  noble  nature. 

In  conclusion,  it  is  but  necessary  to  add,  that  Bettina’s 
work  thus  deprived  of  its  authenticity,  all  those  hypotheses 
which  have  been  built  on  it  respecting  Goethe’s  conduct  fall 
to  the  ground.  Indeed,  when  one  comes  to  think  of  it,  the 
hypothesis  of  his  using  her  letters  as  poetic  materials  does 
seem  the  wildest  of  all  figments ; for  not  only  was  he  prod- 
igal in  invention  and  inexhaustible  in  material,  but  he  was 
especially  remarkable  for  always  expressing  his  own  feelings,  ' 
his  own  experience,  not  the  feelings  and  experience  of 
others. 

We  part  here  from  Bettina;  another  and  very  different 
figure  enters  on  jthe  scene:  Napoleon  at  the  Congress  of 
Erfurt.  It  was  in  September,  1808,  that  the  meeting  of  the 
Emperors  of  France  and  Russia,  with  all  the  minor  poten- 
tates, took  place  at  the  little  town  of  Erfurt,  a few  miles  from 
Weimar.  It  was  a wonderful  sight.  The  theatre  was 
opened,  with  Talma  and  the  Parisian  troupe  performing  the 
finest  tragedies  of  France  before  a parterre  of  kings.  “Ex- 
actly in  front  of  the  pit  sat  the  two  Emperors,  in  arm-chairs, 
in  familiar  conversation  ; a little  in  their  rear  the  kings ; and 
then  the  reigning  princes  and  hereditary  princes.  Nothing 
was  seen  in  the  whole  pit  but  uniforms,  stars,  and  orders. 
The  lower  boxes  were  filled  with  staff-officers  and  the  most 
distinguished  persons  of  the  imperial  bureaux ; the  upper 
front  with  princesses ; and  at  their  sides  foreign  ladies.  A 
strong  guard  of  grenadiers  of  the  imperial  guard  was  posted 
at  the  entrance.  On  the  arrival  of  either  emperor  the  drum 
beat  thrice ; on  that  of  any  king,  twice.  On  one  occasion 
the  sentinel,  deceived  by  the  outside  of  the  King  of  W&rtem- 
berg’s  carriage,  ordered  the  triple  salute  to  be  given,  on 


372 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE . [book  vii. 


which  the  officer  in  command  cried  out,  in  an  angry  tone, 
‘ Taisez-vous,  — ce  n’est  qu’un  roi ! * 

Napoleon,  on  this  occasion,  gave  a friendly  reception  to 
the  Duke  of  Weimar,  and  to  Goethe  and  Wieland,  with  whom 
he  talked  about  literature  and  history.  Goethe  went  to 
Erfurt  on  the  29th  of  September,  and  that  evening  saw  An- 
di'omaque  performed.  On  the  30th,  there  was  a grand  dinner 
given  by  the  Duke,  and  in  the  evening  Britannicus  was 
performed.  In  the  Moniteur  of  the  8th  of  October  he  is 
mentioned  among  the  illustrious  guests  : “ II  parait  appre'cier 
parfaitement  nos  acteurs,  et  admirer  surtout  les  chefs-d’oeuvre 
qu’ils  represented.”  On  the  2d  of  October  he  was  sum- 
moned to  an  audience  with  the  Emperor,  and  found  him  at 
breakfast,  Talleyrand  and  Daru  standing  by  his  side,  Ber- 
thier  and  Savary  behind.  Napoleon,  after  a fixed  look,  ex- 
claimed, “Vous  etes  un  homme!”  a phrase  which  produced 
a profound  impression  on  the  flattered  poet.  “ How  old  are 
you?”  asked  the  Emperor.  “Sixty.”  “You  are  very  well 
preserved.”  After  a pause,  “You  have  written  tragedies?” 
Here  Daru  interposed,  and  spoke  with  warmth  of  Goethe’s 
works,  adding  that  he  had  translated  Voltaire’s  Mahomet. 
“It  is  not  a good  piece,”  said  Napoleon,  and  commenced  a 
critique  on  Mahomet , especially  on  the  unworthy  portrait 
given  of  that  conqueror  of  a world.  He  then  turned  the  con- 
versation to  Werther , which  he  had  read  seven  times,  and 
which  accompanied  him  to  Egypt.  “ After  various  remarks, 
all  very  just,”  says  Goethe,  “he  pointed  out  a passage,  and 
asked  me  why  I had  written  so  : it  was  contrary  to  nature. 
This  opinion  he  developed  with  great  clearness.  I listened 
calmly,  and  smilingly  replied  that  I did  not  know  whether 
the  objection  had  ever  been  made  before,  but  that  I found  it 

* Kanzler  von  Muller  in  Mrs.  Austin’s  Germany  from  1760  to  1814, 
P-  307- 


i8o8.1 


BETTINA  AND  NAPOLEON. 


373 


aps  the 


perfectly  just.  The  passage  was  unnatural ; but' 
poet  might  be  pardoned  for  the  artifice  which  enabled^J^hl  to  I 
reach  his  end  in  an  easier,  simpler  way.  The  Emperor 
seemed  satisfied  and  returned  to  the  drama,  and  criticised  it 
like  a man  who  had  studied  the  tragic  stage  with  the  atten- 
tion of  a criminal  judge,  and  who  was  keenly  alive  to  the 
fault  of  the  French  in  departing  from  nature.  He  disap- 
proved of  all  pieces  in  which  fate  played  a part.  * Ces  pieces 
appartiennent  a une  epoque  obscure.  Au  reste,  que  veulent- 
ils  dire  avec  leur  fatalite  ? La  politique  est  la  fatalite.’  ” 

The  interview  lasted  nearly  an  hour.  Napoleon  inquired 
after  his  children  and  family ; was  very  gracious  ; and  wound 
up  almost  every  sentence  with,  “ Qu’en  dit  M.  Goet  ? ” As 
Goethe  left  the  room,  Napoleon  repeated  to  Berthier  and 
Daru,  “ Voila  un  homme  ! ” 

A few  days  after,  Napoleon  was  in  Weimar,  and  great  fes- 
tivities were  set  on  foot  to  honor  him  ; among  them  a chasse 
on  the  battle-field  of  Jena  ; a grand  ball  at  court;  and  La 
Mort  de  Cesar  at  the  theatre,  with  Talma  as  Brutus.  Dur- 
ing the  ball,  Napoleon  talked  at  great  length  with  Goethe 
and  Wieland.  Speaking  of  ancient  and  modern  literature, 
Napoleon  touched  on  Shakespeare,  whom  he  was  too  French 
to  comprehend,  and  said  to  Goethe  : “ Je  suis  etonne  qu’un 
grand  esprit  comme  vous  n’aime  pas  les  genres  tranches/’ 
Goethe  might  have  replied  that  les  grands  esprits  have  almost 
universally  been  the  very  reverse  of  tranches  in  their  tastes  ; 
but  of  course  it  was  not  for  him  to  controvert  the  Emperor. 
As  Johnson  said  on  a similar  occasion,  “ Sir,  it  was  not  for  me 
to  bandy  words  with  my  sovereign.”  After  speaking  magnil- 
oquently  of  tragedy,  Napoleon  told  him  he  ought  to  write  a 
Death  of  Ccesar,  but  in  a grander  style  than  the  tragedy  of 
Voltaire.  “ Ce  travail  pourrait  devenir  la  principale  tache 
de  votre  vie.  Dans  cette  tragedie  il  faudrait  montrer  au 


374 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


monde  comment  Cesar  aurait  pu  faire  le  bonheur  de  l’hu- 
manite  si  on  lui  avait  laissd  le  temps  d'exdcuter  ses  vastes 
plans.”  One  cannot  help  thinking  of  Goethe’s  early  scheme 
to  write  Julius  Ccesar , and  how  entirely  opposed  it  would 
have  been  to  the  genre  tranchl  so  admired  by  Napoleon. 

A proposition  more  acceptable  than  that  of  writing  trage- 
dies at  his  age  was  that  of  accompanying  Napoleon  to  Paris. 

“ Venez  a Paris,  je  l’exige  de  vous ; lk  vous  trouverez  un  cer- 
cle  plus,vaste  pour  votre  esprit  d’observation ; Ik,  vous  trou- 
verez des  matieres  immenses  pour  vos  creations  poetiques.” 
He  had  never  seen  a great  capital  like  Paris  or  London,  and 
there  was  something  very  tempting  in  this  invitation.  F.  von 
Miiller  says  he  often  spoke  with  him  on  the  probable  expense 
of  the  journey,  and  of  the  Parisian  usages ; but  the  inconven- 
ience of  so  long  a journey  (in  those  days),  and  his  sixty  years, 
seem  to  have  checked  his  desire. 

On  the  14th  of  October  he  and  Wieland  received  the 
cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  — then  an  honor ; and  the 
two  Emperors  quitted  Erfurt.  Goethe  preserved  complete 
silence  on  all  that  had  passed  between  him  and  Napoleon. 
Indeed,  when  he  recorded  the  interviews,  many  years  later, 
in  the  annals  of  his  life,  he  did  so  in  the  most  skeleton-like 
manner. 

To  the  oft-repeated  question,  What  was  the  passage  in 
Werther  indicated  by  Napoleon  as  contrary  to  Nature,  he 
always  returned  a playful  answer,  referring  the  questioner  to 
the  book,  on  which  to  exercise  his  own  ingenuity  in  discov- 
ery. He  would  not  even  tell  Eckermann.  He  was  fond,  in 
this  later  period  of  life,  of  playing  hide-and-seek  with  readers, 
and  enjoyed  their  efforts  to  unravel  mysteries.  The  present 
mystery  has  been  cleared  up  by  the  Chancellor  von  Muller, 
to  whom  we  owe  most  of  the  details  respecting  this  interview 
with  Napoleon.  The  objection  raised  by  Napoleon  was  none  \ 


BETTINA  AND  NAPOLEON. 


37  5 


1808.] 

other  than  the  objection  raised  by  Herder  when  Werther  was 
revised  by  him  in  1782,  — viz.,  that  Werther’s  melancholy 
which  leads  him  to  suicide,  instead  of  proceeding  solely  from 
frustrated  love,  is  complicated  by  his  frustrated  ambition. 
Herder  thought  this  a fault  in  art,  Napoleon  thought  it  con- 
trary to  nature  ; and,  strange  to  say,  Goethe  agreed  with  both, 
and  had  altered  his  work  in  obedience  to  Herder’s  criticism, 
though  he  forgot  all  about  it  when  Napoleon  once  more 
brought  the  objection  forward.  Against  Herder,  Napoleon, 
and  Goethe  himself,  it  is  enough  to  oppose  the  simple  fact  : 
Werther  (i.  e.  Jerusalem)  was  suffering  from  frustrated  ambi- 
tion, as  well  as  from  frustrated  love  ; and  what  Goethe  found 
him,  that  he  made  him.  We  have  only  to  turn  to  Kestner’s 
letter,  describing  Jerusalem  and  his  unhappy  story,  to  see 
that  Goethe,  in  Werther , followed  with  the  utmost  fidelity  the 
narrative  which  was  given  him.  This  anecdote  affords  a 
piquant  commentary  on  the  value  of  criticism : three  men  so 
illustrious  as  Napoleon,  Goethe,  and  Herder,  pointing  to  a 
particular  treatment  of  a subject  as  contrary  to  Art  and  con- 
trary to  Nature  ; the  treatment  being  all  the  while  strictly  in 
accordance  with  Nature. 

That  he  was  extremely  flattered  by  the  attentions  of  Napo- 
leon has  been  the  occasion  of  a loud  outcry  from  those  who, 
having  never  been  subjected  to  any  flattery  of  this  nature, 
find  it  very  contemptible.  But  the  attentions  of  a Napoleon 
were  enough  to  soften  in  their  flattery  even  the  sternness  of 
a republican  ; and  Goethe,  no  republican,  was  all  his  life 
very  susceptible  to  the  gratification  which  a Frankfurt  citizen 
must  feel  in  receiving  the  attention  of  crowned  heads. 
There  is  infinite  insincerity  uttered  on  this  subject ; and  gen- 
erally the  outcry  is  loudest  from  men  who  would  themselves 
be  most  dazzled  by  court  favor  of  any  kind.  To  hear  them 
talk  of  Goethe’s  servility,  and  worship  of  rank,  one  might 


376 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


fancy  that  they  stood  on  a moral  elevation,  looking  down 
upon  him  with  a superior  pity  which  in  some  sort  compen- 
sated their  inferiority  of  intellect. 

It  is  true  that  Goethe  was  not  only  far  removed  from 
republican  austerity,  but  placed  more  value  on  his  star  and 
title  of  Excellency  than  his  thorough-going  partisans  are  will- 
ing to  admit.  If  that  be  a weakness,  let  him  be  credited 
with  it ; but  if  he  were  as  vain  of  such  puerilities  as  an  Eng- 
lish Duke  is  of  the  Garter,  I do  not  see  any  cause  for  seri- 
ous reproach  in  it.  So  few  poets  have  been  Excellencies,  so 
few  have  worn  stars  on  their  breast,  that  we  have  no 
means  of  judging  whether  Goethe’s  vanity  was  greater  or  less 
than  we  have  a right  to  expect.  Meanwhile  it  does  seem  to 
me  that  sneers  at  his  title,  and  epigrams  on  his  stars,  come 
with  a very  bad  grace  from  a nation  which  is  laughed  at  for 
nothing  more  frequently  than  for  its  inordinate  love  of  titles. 
Nor  are  Englishmen  so  remarkable  for  their  indifference  to 
rank,  as  to  make  them  the  fittest  censors  of  this  weakness  in 
a Goethe. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

POLITICS  AND  RELIGION. 

Among  the  Jena  friends  whom  Goethe  saw  with  constant 
pleasure  was  Frommann,  the  bookseller,  in  whose  family  there 
was  an  adopted  child,  by  name  Minna  Herzlieb,  strangely  in- 
teresting to  us  as  the  original  of  Ottilie  in  the  Wahlvenvandt- 
schaften.  As  a child  she  had  been  a great  pet  of  Goethe’s  ; 
growing  into  womanhood,  she  exercised  a fascination  over 
him  which  his  reason  in  vain  resisted.  The  disparity  of  years 
was  great;  but  how  frequently  are  young  girls  found  bestowing 


i8o8] 


POLITICS  AND  RELIGION. 


377 


the  bloom  of  their  affections  on  men  old  enough  to  be  their 
fathers  ! and  how  frequently  are  men  at  an  advanced  age 
found  trembling  with  the  passion  of  youth  ! In  the  Sonnets 
addressed  to  her,  and  in  the  novel  of  Elective  Affinities , may 
be  read  the  fervor  of  his  passion,  and  the  strength  with  which 
he  resisted  it.  Speaking  of  this  novel,  he  says  : “ No  one 
can  fail  to  recognize  in  it  a deep  passionate  wound  which 
shrinks  from  being  closed  by  healing,  a heart  which  dreads  to 

be  cured In  it,  as  in  a burial-urn,  I have  deposited  with 

deep  emotion  many  a sad  experience.  The  3d  of  October, 
1809  (when  the  publication  was  completed),  set  me  free  from 
the  work  ; but  the  feelings  it  embodies  can  never  quite  depart 
from  me.”  If  we  knew  as  much  of  the  circumstances  out  of 
which  grew  the  Elective  Affinities  as  we  do  of  those  out  of 
which  grew  Werther , we  should  find  his  experience  as  clearly 
embodied  in  this  novel  as  it  is  in  Werther ; but  conjecture  in 
such  cases  being  perilous,  I will  not  venture  beyond  the  facts 
which  have  been  placed  at  my  disposal ; and  may  only  add 
therefore  that  the  growing  attachment  was  seen  by  all  with 
pain  and  dismay.  At  length  it  was  resolved  to  send  Minna 
to  school,*  and  this  absolute  separation  saved  them  both. 

Minna  Herzlieb,  to  whom  we  owe  the  Wahlverwandtschaf- 
ten , subsequently  married  unhappily.!  Goethe  long  carried 
the  arrow  in  his  heart.  In  1810,  he  once  more  gave  poetic 
expression  to  his  experience  in  an  erotic  poem,  setting  forth 
the  conflict  of  Love  and  Duty.  The  nature  of  this  poem, 
however,  prevented  its  publication,  and  it  still  exists  only  as 
a manuscript.  In  this  year  also  he  commenced  his  Autobiog- 
raphy, the  first  part  of  which  appeared  in  1811.  The  public, 
anxious  for  autobiography,  received  it  with  a disappointment 

* In  the  novel,  Ottilie  also  is  sent  back  to  school. 

t Read  the  story  as  narrated  by  Stahr,  Goethe's  Frauengestalten , 

1870,  II.  261. 


378 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [rook  vii. 


which  is  perfectly  intelligible;  charming  as  the  book  is  in 
every  other  respect,  it  is  tantalizing  to  a reader  curious  to  see 
the  great  poet  in  his  youth. 

Before  writing  this  Autobiography  he  had  to  outlive  the 
sorrow  for  his  mother’s  death.  She  died  on  the  13th  of  Sep- 
tember, 1808,  in  her  78th  year.  To  the  last,  her  love  for  her 
son,  and  his  for  her,  had  been  the  glory  and  sustainment  of 
her  happy  old  age.  He  had  wished  her  to  come  and  live 
with  him  at  Weimar ; but  the  circle  of  old  Frankfurt  friends, 
and  the  influence  of  old  habits,  kept  her  in  her  native  city, 
where  she  was  venerated  by  all. 

A volume  would  be  required  to  record  with  anything  like 
fulness  the  details  of  the  remaining  years.  There  is  no 
deficiency  of  material : in  his  letters,  and  the  letters  of  friends 
and  acquaintances,  will  be 'found  an  ample  gleaning;  but, 
unhappily,  the  materials  are  abundant  precisely  at  the  point 
where  the  interest  of  the  story  begins  to  fade.  From  sixty  to 
eighty-two  is  a long  period  ; but  it  is  not  a period  in  which 
persons  and  events  influence  a man  ; his  character,  already 
developed,  can  receive  no  new  direction.  At  this  period 
biography  is  at  an  end,  and  necrology  begins.  For  Ger- 
mans, the  details  to  which  I allude  have  interest ; but  the 
English  reader  would  receive  with  mediocre  gratitude  a cir- 
cumstantial narrative  of  all  Goethe  did  and  studied ; all  the 
excursions  he  made ; every  cold  and  toothache  which  afflicted 
him  ; every  person  he  conversed  with. 

The  year  1813,  which  began  the  War  of  Independence,  was 
to  Goethe  a year  of  troubles.  It  began  with  an  affliction,  — 
the  death  of  his  old  friend  Wieland,  — which  shook  him  more 
than  those  who  knew  him  best  were  prepared  for.  Herder, 
Schiller,  the  Duchess  Amalia,  his  mother,  and  now  Wieland, 
one  by  one  had  fallen  away,  and  left  him  lonely,  advancing  in 
years. 


iSi3-] 


POLITICS  AND  RELIGION. 


379 


Nor  was  this  the  only  source  of  unhappiness.  Political 
troubles  came  to  disturb  his  plans.  Germany  was  rising 
against  the  tyranny  of  Napoleon ; rising,  as  Goethe  thought, 
in  vain.  “You  will  not  shake  off  your  chains,”  he  said  to 
Korner;  “ the  man  is  too  powerful ; you  will  only  press  them 
deeper  into  your  flesh.”  His  doubts  were  shared  by  many ; 
but  happily  the  nation  shared  them  not.  While  patriots  were 
rousing  the  wrath  of  the  nation  into  the  resistance  of  despair, 
he  tried  to  “ escape  from  the  present,  because  it  is  impossible 
to  live  in  such  circumstances  and  not  go  mad  ” ; he  took 
refuge,  as  he  always  did,  in  Art.  He  wrote  the  ballads  Der 
Todteniatiz , Der  getreue  Eckart,  and  Die  wandelude  Glocke ; 
wrote  the  essay  Shakspeare  und  kein  Ende,  and  finished  the 
third  volume  of  his  Autobiography . He  buried  himself  in  the 
study  of  Chinese  history.  Nay,  on  the  very  day  of  the  battle 
of  Leipsic,  he  wrote  the  epilogue  to  the  tragedy  of  Essex , for 
the  favorite  actress,  Madame  Wolf.* 

Patriotic  writers  are  unsparing  in  sarcasms  on  a man  who 
could  thus  seek  refuge  in  Poetry  from  the  bewildering  troubles 
of  politics,  and  they  find  no  other  explanation  than  that  he 
was  an  Egoist.  Other  patriotic  writers,  among  them  some 
of  ultra-republicanism,  such  as  Karl  Grim,  have  eloquently 
defended  him.  I do  not  think  it  necessary  to  add  arguments 
to  those  already  suggested  respecting  his  relation  to  politics. 
Those  who  are  impatient  with  him  for  being  what  he  was,  and 
not  what  they  are,  will  listen  to  no  arguments.  It  is  needless 
to  point  out  how,  at  sixty-four,  he  was  not  likely  to  become  a 
politician,  having  up  to  that  age  sedulously  avoided  politics. 
It  is  needless  to  show  that  he  was  not  in  a position  which 
called  upon  him  to  do  anything.  The  grievance  seems  to  be 

* Curiously  enough,  on  that  very  day  of  Napoleon’s  first  great  defeat, 
his  medallion,  which  was  hung  on  the  wall  of  Goethe’s  study,  fell  from 
its  nail  on  to  the  ground. 


380 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  VII. 


that  he  wrote  no  war-songs,  issued  no  manifestoes,  but  strove 
to  keep  himself  as  much  as  possible  out  of  the  hearing  of 
contemporary  history.  If  this  was  a crime,  the  motive  was 
not  criminal.  Judge  the  act  as  you  will,  but  do  not  misjudge 
the  motive.  To  attribute  such  an  act  to  cowardice,  or  fear  of 
compromising  himself,  is  unwarrantable,  in  the  face  of  all  the 
evidence  we  have  of  his  character. 

When  the  mighty  Napoleon  threatened  the  Grand  Duke,  we 
have  seen  how  Goethe  was  roused.  That  was  an  individual 
injustice,  which  he  could  clearly  understand,  and  was  prepared 
to  combat.  For  the  Duke  he  would  turn  ballad-singer ; for 
the  Nation  he  had  no  voice  ; and  why  ? Because  there  was 
no  Nation.  He  saw  clearly  then,  what  is  now  seen  clearly  by 
others,  that  Germany  had  no  existence  as  a Nation  : it  was  a 
geographical  fiction ; and  such  it  remained  till  our  day. 
And  he  failed  to  see  what  is  now  clearly  seen,  that  the  Ger- 
man Peoples  were,  for  the  time,  united  by  national  enthusiasm, 
united  by  a common  feeling  of  hatred  against  France  ; failing 
to  see  this,  he  thought  that  a collection  of  disunited  Germans 
was  certain  to  be  destroyed  in  a struggle  with  Napoleon.  He 
was  wrong  ; the  event  has  proved  his  error ; but  his  error  of 
opinion  must  not  be  made  an  accusation  against  his  sincerity. 
When  Luden  the  historian,  whose  testimony  is  the  weightier 
because  it  is  that  of  a patriot,  had  that  interview  with  him, 
after  the  battle  of  Leipsic,  which  he  has  recorded  with  so 
much  feeling,*  the  impression  left  was,  he  says,  “ that  I was 
deeply  convinced  they  are  in  grievous  error  who  blaim  Goethe 
for  a want  of  love  of  country,  a want  of  German  feeling,  a 
want  of  faith  in  the  German  people,  or  of  sympathy  with  its 
honor  and  shame,  its  fortune  or  misery.  His  silence  about 
great  events  was  simply  a painful  resignation,  to  which  he  was 
necessarily  led  by  his  position  and  his  knowledge  of  mankind.” 

* Luden ’s  Ruckblicke  in  mein  Leben,  p.  113,  seq. 


POLITICS  AND  RELIGION. 


381 


1813.] 

He  was  not  likely  to  be  found  among  the  enthusiasts  of 
that  day,  had  he  been  at  the  age  of  enthusiasm.  But,  as  he 
said  to  Eckermann,  who  alluded  to  the  reproaches  against 
him  for  not  having  written  war-songs,  “ How  could  I take  up 
arms  without  hatred,  and  how  could  I hate  without  youth  ? 
If  such  an  emergency  had  befallen  me  when  twenty  years 
old,  I should  certainly  not  have  been  the  last ; but  it  found 
me  past  sixty.  Besides,  we  cannot  all  serve  our  country  in 
the  same  way,  but  each  does  his  best  according  as  God  has 
endowed  him.  I have  toiled  hard  enough  during  half  a 
century.  I can  say,  that  in  those  things  which  nature  has 
appointed  for  my  daily  work,  I have  permitted  myself  no 
relaxation  or  repose,  but  have  always  striven,  investigated, 
and  done  as  much,  and  as  well,  as  I could.  If  every  one  can 
say  the  same  of  himself,  it  will  prove  well  with  all.  To 
write  military  songs,  and  sit  in  a room  ! That  forsooth  was 
my  duty ! To  have  written  them  in  the  bivouac,  when  the 
horses  at  the  evening’s  outposts  are  heard  neighing  at  night, 
would  have  been  well  enough : that  was  not  my  way  of  life 
nor  my  business,  but  that  of  Theodore  Korner.  His  war- 
songs  suit  him  perfectly.  But  to  me,  who  am  not  of  a 
warlike  nature,  and  who  have  no  warlike  sense,  war-songs 
would  have  been  a mask  which  would  have  fitted  my  face 
very  badly.  I have  never  affected  anything  in  my  poetry.  I 
have  never  uttered  anything  which  I have  not  experienced, 
and  which  has  not  urged  me  to  production.  I have  only 
composed  love-songs  when  I have  loved ; and  how  could  I 
write  songs  of  hatred  without  hating  ? ” 

Connected  with  this  political  indifference,  and  mainly  the 
cause  of  it,  was  his  earnestness  in  Art ; an  earnestness  which 
has  been  made  the  evidence  of  this  most  extraordinary 
charge  against  him,  namely,  that  he  “looked  on  life  only  as 
an  artist.”  The  shallow  phrase  has  become  stereotyped. 


382 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


Every  one  has  heard  it  who  has  heard  anything  of  him.  It 
is  uttered  with  the  confidence  of  conviction,  and  is  meant  to 
convey  a volume  of  implicit  reprobation.  When  a man 
devotes  himself  to  a special  science,  gives  to  it  the  greater 
part  of  his  time,  his  thoughts  and  sympathies,  we  marvel  at 
his  energy,  and  laud  his  passionate  devotion  ; we  do  not 
make  his  earnestness  a crime ; we  do  not  say  of  a Liebig 
that  he  “ looks  at  life  only  as  a chemist  of  a Darwin,  “ that 
he  looks  at  life  only  as  a zoologist.”  It  is  understood  that 
any  great  pursuit  must  necessarily  draw  away  the  thoughts 
and  activities  from  other  pursuits.  Why  then  is  Art  to  be 
excluded  from  the  same  serious  privilege  ? Why  is  the  artist, 
who  is  in  earnest,  excluded  from  the  toleration  spontaneously 
awarded  to  the  philosopher  ? I know  but  of  one  reason,  and 
that  is  the  indisposition  in  men  to  accept  Art  as  serious. 
Because  Art  ministers  directly  to  our  pleasures,  it  is  looked 
on  as  the  child  of  luxury,  the  product  of  idleness ; and  those 
who  cannot  rise  to  the  height  of  the  conception  which  ani- 
mated a Goethe  and  a Schiller  are  apt  to  treat  it  as  mere 
rhetoric  and  self-importance  in  men  who  speak  of  Art  as  the 
noblest  form  of  culture.  Indeed  those  who  regard  painting 
and  sculpture  as  means  of  supplying  their  dining-rooms  and 
galleries  with  costly  ornaments;  music,  as  furnishing  the 
excuse  for  a box  at  the  opera ; and  poetry  as  an  agreeable 
pastime,  may  be  justified  in  thinking  lightly  of  painters, 
sculptors,  musicians,  and  poets.  But  I will  not  suppose  the 
reader  to  be  one  of  this  class  ; and  may  therefore  appeal  to 
his  truer  appreciation  for  a verdict  in  favor  of  the  claims 
made  by  Art  to  serious  recognition,  as  one  among  the  many 
forms  of  national  culture.  This  granted,  it  follows  that  the 
more  earnestly  the  artist  accepts  and  follows  his  career,  the 
more  honor  does  he  claim  from  us. 

Now  Goethe  was  a man  of  too  profoundly  serious  a nature 


POLITICS  AND  RELIGION. 


383 


1813.] 

not  to  be  in  earnest  with  whatever  he  undertook ; he  led  an 
earnest  and  laborious  life,  when  he  might  have  led  one  of 
pleasure  and  luxurious  idleness.  “To  scorn  delights  and 
live  laborious  days,”  with  no  other  reward  than  the  reward  of 
activity,  the  delight  of  development,  was  one  of  the  necessi- 
ties of  his  nature.  He  worked  at  Science  with  the  patient 
labor  of  one  who  had  to  earn  his  bread ; and  he  worked  in 
the  face  of  dire  discouragement,  with  no  reward  in  the  shape 
of  pence  or  praise.  In  Art,  which  was  the  main  region  of 
his  intellectual  strivings,  he  naturally  strove  after  complete- 
ness. If  the  philosopher  is  observed  drawing  materials  for 
his  generalizations  out  of  even  the  frivolities  of  the  passing 
hour,  learning  in  the  theatre,  the  ball-room,  or  in  the  in- 
coherent talk  of  railway  passengers,  to  detect  illustrations 
of  the  laws  he  is  silently  elaborating,  we  do  not  accuse 
him  of  looking  on  life  only  as  a philosopher,  thereby  im- 
plying that  he  is  deficient  in  the  feelings  of  his  kind ; yet 
something  like  this  is  done  by  those  who  make  a crime  of 
Goethe’s  constant  endeavor  to  collect  from  life  material  for 
Art. 

If  when  it  is  said  “he  looked  on  life  only  as  an  artist,”  the 
meaning  is  that  he,  as  an  artist,  necessarily  made  Art  the 
principal  occupation  of  his  life,  — the  phrase  is  a truism;  and 
if  the  meaning  is  that  he  isolated  himself  from  the  labors  and 
pursuits  of  his  fellow-men,  to  play  with  life,  and  arrange  it  as 
an  agreeable  drama,  — the  phrase  is  a calumny.  It  is  only 
through  deep  sympathy  that  a man  can  become  a great 
artist;  those  who  play  with  life  can  only  play  with  art.  The 
great  are  serious.  That  Goethe  was  a great  artist  all  admit. 
Has  the  life  we  have  narrated  shown  him  to  be  deficient  in 
benevolence,  in  lovingness,  in  sympathy  with  others  and  their 
pursuits  ? has  it  shown  any  evidence  of  a nature  so  wrapped 
in  self-indulgence,  and  so  coldly  calculating,  that  life  could 


384 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


become  a mere  playing  to  it?  If  the  answer  be  No,  then 
let  us  hear  no  more  about  Goethe’s  looking  on  life  only  as  an 
artist.  The  vulgar  may  blame  a devotion  which  they  cannot 
understand ; do  not  let  us  imitate  the  vulgar. 

While  one  party  has  assailed  him  for  his  political  indiffer- 
ence, another,  and  still  more  ungenerous,  party  has  assailed 
him  for  what  they  call  his  want  of  religion.  The  man  who 
can  read  Goethe’s  works  and  not  perceive  in  them  a spirit 
deeply  religious  must  limit  the  word  “religion  ” to  the  designa- 
tion of  his  own  doctrines ; and  the  man  who,  reading  them, 
discovers  that  Goethe  was  not  orthodox,  is  discovering  the 
sun  at  mid-day.  Orthodox  he  never  pretended  to  be.  His 
religious  experiences  had  begun  early,  and  his  doubts  began 
with  them.  There  are  those  who  regard  Doubt  as  criminal 
in  itself ; but  no  human  soul  that  has  once  struggled,  that 
has  once  been  perplexed  with  baffling  thoughts  which  it  has 
been  too  sincere  to  huddle  away  and  stifle  in  precipitate  con- 
clusions, dreading  to  face  the  consequences  of  doubt,  will 
speak  thus  harshly  and  unworthily  of  it. 

The  course  of  his  opinions,  as  we  have  seen,  was  often 
altered.  At  times  he  approached  the  strictness  of  strict 
sects;  at  times  he  went  great  lengths  in  scepticism.  The 
Fraulein  von  Klettenberg  taught  him  to  sympathize  with  the 
Moravians;  but  Lavater’s  unconscious  hypocrisy,  and  the 
moral  degradation  of  the  Italian  priesthood,  gradually 
changed  his  respect  for  the  Christian  churches  into  open 
and  sometimes  sarcastic  contempt  of  priests  and  priesthoods. 
In  various  epochs  of  his  long  life  he  expressed  himself  so 
variously  that  a pietist  may  claim  him,  or  a Voltairian  may 
claim  him  : both  with  equal  show  of  justice.  The  secret  of 
this  contradiction  lies  in  the  fact  that  he  had  deep  religious 
sentiments,  with  complete  scepticism  on  most  religious  doc- 
trines. Thus,  whenever  the  Encyclopedists  attacked  Chris- 


POLITICS  AND  RELIGION. 


385 


1813.] 

tianity  he  was  ready  to  defend  it ; * but  when  he  was  brought 
in  contact  with  dogmatic  Christians,  who  wanted  to  force 
their  creed  upon  him,  he  resented  the  attempt,  and  answered 
in  the  spirit  of  his  scepticism.  To  the  Encyclopedists  he 
would  say,  “ Whatever  frees  the  intellect,  without  at  the  same 
time  giving  us  command  over  ourselves,  is  pernicious  ” ; or 
he  would  utter  one  of  his  profound  and  pregnant  aphorisms, 
such  as 

“Nur  das  Gesetz  kann  uns  die  Freiheit  geben,” 

i.  e.  only  within  the  circle  of  law  can  there  be  true  freedom. 
We  are  not  free  when  we  acknowledge  to  higher  power,  but 
when  we  acknowledge  it,  and  in  reverence  raise  ourselves  by 
proving  that  a Higher  lives  in  us. 

But  against  dogmatic  teachings  he  opposed  the  fundamen- 
tal rule,  that  all  conceptions  of  the  Deity  must  necessarily  be 
our  individual  conceptions,  valid  for  us,  but  not  to  the  same 
extent  for  others.  Each  soul  has  its  own  religion  ; must  have 
it  as  an  individual  possession  ; let  each  see  that  he  be  true  to 
it,  which  is  far  more  efficacious  than  trying  to  accommodate 
himself  to  another’s ! 

“ Im  Innern  ist  ein  Universum  auch  ; 

Daher  der  Volker  loblicher  Gebrauch 
Dass  Jeglicher  das  Beste  was  er  kennt, 

Er  Gott,  ja  seinen  Gott  benennt.” 

* Abeken  was  told  by  a lady  that  she  once  heard  Goethe  soundly 
rate  a respected  friend,  because  she  spoke  of  sacred  persons  in  the  tone 
of  vulgar  rationalism. 


17 


Y 


386 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  ACTIVITY  OF  AGE. 

Whatever  else  he  has  been  accused  of,  Goethe  has  never 
been  accused  of  not  having  striven  incessantly  to  reach  a full 
development  of  his  own  being,  and  to  aid  the  culture  of  his 
nation.  There  is  something  truly  grand  in  the  picture  of  his 
later  years,  so  calm,  and  yet  so  active.  His  sympathy,  in- 
stead of  growing  cold  with  age,  seems  every  year  to  become 
more  active.  Every  discovery  in  Science,  every  new  appear- 
ance in  Literature,  every  promise  in  Art,  finds  him  eager  as 
a child  to  be  instructed,  and  ready  with  aid  or  applause  to 
further  it. 

Old  age,  indeed,  is  a relative  term.  Goethe  at  seventy  was 
younger  than  many  men  at  fifty  \ and  at  eighty-two  he  wrote 
a scientific  review  of  the  great  discussion  between  Cuvier  and 
Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire  on  Philosophic  Zoology,  a review  which 
few  men  in  their  prime  could  write.  Sophocles,  who  is  said 
to  have  written  his  masterpiece  at  eighty,  is  an  example  of 
great  poetic  capacity  thus  prolonged.  The  reflective  powers 
often  retain  their  capacity,  and  by  increase  of  material  seem 
to  increase  it ; but  not  so  the  productive  powers.  Yet  in 
Goethe  we  see  extraordinary  fertility,  even  in  the  latest  years  : 
the  Second  Part  of  Faust  was  completed  in  his  eighty-first 
year,  and  the  wesi-ostlic7ie  Divan  was  written  in  his  sixty-fifth. 
Although  we  cannot  by  any  means  consider  these  works  as 
equal  to  the  works  of  his  earlier  days,  we  must  still  consider 
them  as  marvellous  productions  to  issue  under  the  sunset  of 
a poet. 

The  west-ostliche  Divan  was  a refuge  from  the  troubles  of 


THE  ACTIVITY  OF  ACE. 


387 


l8l6.] 

the  time.  Instead  of  making  himself  unhappy  with  the  poli- 
tics of  Europe,  he  made  himself  happy  studying  the  history 
and  poetry  of  the  East.  He  even  began  to  study  the  Ori- 
ental languages,  and  was  delighted  to  be  able  to  copy  the 
Arabic  manuscripts  in  their  peculiar  characters.  Von  Ham- 
mer, De  Sacy,  and  other  Orientalists  had  given  him  abun- 
dant material ; his  poetic  activity  soon  gave  that  material 
shape.*  But  while  donning  the  Turban,  and  throwing  the 
Caftan  over  his  shoulders,  he  remained  a true  German.  He 
smoked  opium,  and  drank  Foukah : but  his  dreams  were 
German,  and  his  songs  were  German.  This  forms  the  pecu- 
liarity of  the  Divan,  — it  is  West-Eastern:  the  images  are 
Eastern  ; the  feeling  is  Western.  Precisely  as  in  the  Roman 
Elegies  he  had  thrown  himself  into  the  classical  past,  repro- 
ducing its  forms  with  unsurpassed  ease  and  witchery,  yet 
never  for  a moment  ceasing  to  be  original,  never  ceasing  to 
be  German,  so  also  in  this  Eastern  world  we  recognize  the 
Western  Poet.  He  follows  the  Caravan  slowly  across  the 
desert ; he  hears  the  melancholy  chant  of  the  Bulbul  singing 
on  the  borders  of  sparkling  fountains  ; he  listens  devoutly  to 
the  precepts  of  Mohammed,  and  rejoices  in  the  strains  of 
Hafis.  The  combination  is  most  felicitous.  It  produced  an 
epoch  in  German  Literature.  The  Lyrists,  according  to 
Gervinus,  suddenly  following  this  example,  at  once  relin- 
quished their  warlike  and  contemporary  tone  to  sing  the 
songs  of  the  East. 

In  the  year  1816  he  began  to  publish  an  Art  Journal, 

* I do  not  think  it  necessary  to  make  more  than  a passing  allusion  to 
the  preposterous  idea  of  Goethe’s  having  been  assisted  in  these  poems 
by  the  Frau  von  Willemer,  who  in  her  seventieth  year  first  revealed  the 
secret  to  Hermann  Grimm  that  she  was  the  inspirer  of  many  and  the 
author  of  some  of  these  exquisite  lyrics ! It  is  the  story  of  Bettina  over 
again. 


333 


THE  STORY  OF  COE THEyS  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


Kunst  und  Alterthum , which  continued  till  1828,  a curious 
monument  of  the  old  man’s  studies  and  activity.  It  is 
curious,  morever,  as  indicating  a change  in  the  direction  of 
his  ideas.  We  have  seen  what  his  relation  was  to  the 
Romantic  School,  and  how  the  tendencies  of  his  nature  and 
education  led  him  to  oppose  to  the  characteristics  of  that 
school  the  characteristics  of  Greek  Art.  The  Propylaen 
represents  the  Greek  tendency  : Kunst  und  Alterthum  rep- 
resents a certain  leaning  towards  the  Romantic.  Gothic 
Art,  the  old  German  and  Netherlandish  painters,  no  longer 
seemed  to  him  objectionable  ; but  the  discovery  of  the  Elgin 
marbles  once  more  awakened  his  enthusiasm  for  that  perfec- 
tion of  form  which  was  the  ideal  of  Greek  Art  ; * and  I have 
heard  Rauch,  the  sculptor,  humorously  narrate  Goethe’s 
whimsical  outbreaks  when  the  young  sculptor  Rietschl  seemed 
in  danger  of  perverting  his  talent  by  executing  designs  in  the 
spirit  of  the  Romantic  School. 

Strong,  however,  as  the  opposition  was  which  he  felt  to  the 
vagaries  of  the  so-called  Christian  Art,  he  had  too  mnch  of 
the  spirit  which  inspired  the  Faust  to  keep  entirely  aloof 
from  the  Romanticists.  In  his  old  age  the'  tendency  to  sub- 
stitute Reflection  for  Inspiration  naturally  assumed  greater 
force  ; and  his  love  of  mystification  was  now  wearing  a serious 
aspect,  duping  himself  perhaps  as  much  as  it  duped  others. 
The  German  nation  had  persisted  in  discovering  profound 
meanings  in  passages  which  he  had  written  without  any 
recondite  meaning  at  all ; finding  himself  a prophet  when  he 
meant  only  to  be  a poet,  he  gradually  fell  into  the  snare,  and 
tried  to  be  all  the  more  a prophet  now  he  could  no  longer  be 
so  great  a poet  as  before.  Every  incident  was  to  be  typical. 
Every  phrase  was  of  importance.  Whether  the  lion  should 
roar  at  a particular  time  (in  the  Novelle)y  or  whether  he 

* See  his  letter  to  Haydon  in  the  Life  of  Hay  don , Vol.  II.  p.  295. 


THE  ACTIVITY  OF  ACE. 


389 


1816.] 

should  be  silent,  were  subjects  of  long  deliberation.  The 
Wanderjahre  was  one  great  arsenal  of  symbols,  the  Second 
Part  of  Faust  another.  He  delighted  in  seeing  the  philo- 
sophic critics  outdoing  each  other  in  far-fetched  ingenuity, 
“explaining”  his  Faust  and  Meister ; and  very  astutely  he 
refused  to  come  to  their  aid.  He  saw  libraries  filled  with 
discussions  as  to  what  he  had  intended  ; but  no  one  ever 
seduced  him  into  an  explanation  which  would  have  silenced 
these  discussions.  Instead  of  doing  so,  he  seemed  disposed 
to  furnish  the  world  with  more  riddles.  In  a word,  he  mys- 
tified the  public  ; but  he  did  so  in  a grave,  unconscious  way, 
with  a certain  belief  in  his  own  mystification. 

In  the  year  1816,  Saxe  Weimar  was  made  a Grand  Duchy  ; 
and  he  received  the  Falcon  Order,  together  with  an  increase 
of  salary,  which  now  became  three  thousand  thalers,  with  extra 
allowance  for  his  equipage.  Two  other  events  made  this 
year  memorable.  Lotte, — Werther’s  Lotte, — now  a widow 
in  her  sixtieth  year,  and  mother  of  twelve  children,  pays  him 
a visit  at  Weimar.  They  had  not  met  since  her  marriage, 
and  what  a meeting  this  must  have  been  for  both  ! how 
strange  a mingling  of  feelings  recurrent  to  a pleasantly  agi- 
tated past,  and  of  feelings  perplexed  by  the  surprise  at  find- 
ing each  other  so  much  changed  ! 

The  second  and  far  more  serious  event  of  the  year  is  the 
death  of  his  wife.  Many  affected  to  consider  this  “ a happy 
release.”  People  are  fond  of  arranging  the  -lives  of  others 
according  to  their  own  conceptions,  interpreting  afflictions 
like  these  without  regard  to  the  feelings  of  the  afflicted.  The 
blow  was  heavy  to  bear.  She  who  for  eight-and-twenty  years 
had  loved  and  aided  him,  who — whatever  her  faults  — had 
been  to  him  what  no  other  woman  was,  could  not  be  taken 
from  him  without  his  deeply  feeling  the  loss.  His  self-mastery 
was  utterly  shaken.  He  kneeled  at  her  bedside,  seizing  her 


390 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [Book  vn. 


cold  hands,  and  exclaiming,  “ Thou  wilt  not  forsake  me ! 
No,  no;  thou  must  not  forsake  me ! ” He  has  expressed  his 
feelings  in  two  passages  only  ; in  the  exquisite  lines  he  wrote 
on  the  day  of  her  death,  and  in  a letter  to  Zelter.  These  are 
the  lines  : — • 


“ Du  versuchst,  O Sonne,  vergebens 
Durch  die  diistern  Wolken  zu  scheinen  ! 

Der  ganze  Gewinn  meines  Lebens 
1st,  ihren  Verlust  zu  beweinen.”* 

And  to  Zelter  the  words  were  these  : “ When  I tell  thee,  thou 
rough  and  sorely  tried  son  of  earth,  that  my  dear  little  wife 
has  left  me,  thou  wilt  know  what  that  means.” 

In  Science  he  strove  to  find  forgetfulness  ; and  the  loneli- 
ness of  his  house  was  next  year  changed  into  an  unaccustomed 
liveliness  by  the  marriage  of  his  son  with  Ottilie  von  Pog- 
wisch,  one  of  the  gayest  and  most  brilliant  of  the  Weimar 
circle.  She  was  always  a great  favorite  with  her  father-in-law, 
and  during  the  remainder  of  his  life  not  only  kept  his  house 
for  him,  and  received  his  numerous  guests,  but  became  a 
privileged  favorite,  to  whom  everything  was  permitted.  In 
the  year  following  he  sang  a cradle  song  over  his  first  grand- 
child. 

With  Dobereiner,  he  followed  all  the  new  phenomena 
which  Chemistry  was  then  bringing  before  the  astonished 
world.  He  also  prepared  his  own  writings  on  Morphology 
for  the  press  ; and  studied  Greek  mythology,  English  litera- 
ture, and  Gothic  Art.  Byron’s  Manfred  he  reviewed  in  the 
Kunst  und  Alterthum , and  enthusiastically  welcomed  our 
great  poet  as  the  greatest  product  of  modern  times.  Scott 
also  he  read  with  ever-increasing  admiration.  Homer, 

* “ In  vain,  O Sun,  you  struggle  to  shine  through  the  dark  clouds ; 
the  whole  gain  of  my  life  is  to  bewail  her  loss.” 


1823.]  THE  ACTIVITY  OF  AGE.  39! 

always  studied  with  delight,  now  reassumed  to  him  that  indi- 
viduality which  Wolff  had  for  a time  destroyed  ; Schubarth’s 
Ideen  iiber  Homer  having  brought  him  round  once  more  to 
the  belief  in  the  existence  of  “ the  blind  old  man  of  Scio’s 
rocky  isle.”*  Painting,  sculpture,  architecture,  geology, 
meteorology,  anatomy,  optics,  Oriental  literature,  English  lit- 
erature, Calderon,  and  the  romantic  school  in  France,  — 
these  were  the  subjects  which  by  turns  occupied  his  inex- 
haustible activity.  “Life,”  he  says,  “resembles  the  Sibyl- 
line Books ; it  becomes  dearer  the  less  there  remains  of  it.” 
To  one  who  could  so  worthily  occupy  the  last  remaining 
years  of  a long  life,  they  must  indeed  have  been  precious. 
As  he  grew  older,  he  worked  harden  He  went  less  into 
society.  To  court  he  very  seldom  went.  “ I would  n’t  send 
the  picture,”  writes  the  Duke  to  him,  “ because  I hoped  it 
might  lure  thee  out,  now  Candlemas  is  over,  a day  when 
every  bear  and  badger  leaves  his  lair.”  But  in  lieu  of  his 
going  to  court,  the  court  went  to  him.  Once  every  week  the 
Grand  Duchess  paid  him  a visit,  sometimes  bringing  with  her 
a princely  visitor,  such  as  the  late  Emperor  of  Russia,  then 
Grand  Duke,  or  the  King  of  Wiirtemberg.  He  had  always 
something  new  and  interesting  set  aside  for  this  visit,  which 
was  doubly  dear  to  him,  because  he  had  a tender  regard  for 
the  Grand  Duchess,  and  it  pleased  him  to  be  able  to  show 
her  a new  engraving,  medallion,  book,  poem,  or  some  scien- 
tific novelty.  Karl  August  came  often,  but  not  on  particular 
days.  He  used  to  walk  up  into  the  simple  study,  and  chat 
there  as  with  a brother.  One  day  Goethe  had  a Jena  stu- 
dent paying  him  a visit ; the  student  saw  an  elderly  gen- 
tleman walk  unannounced  into  the  room,  and  quietly  seat 
himself  on  a chair  • the  student  continued  his  harangue,  and 
when  it  was  concluded,  Goethe  quietly  said,  “ But  I must  in- 


* See  the  little  poem  Homer  wider  Homer. 


392 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


troduce  the  gentleman  : his  Royal  Highness  the  Grand  Duke 

of  Saxe  Weimar,  Herr , student  from  Jena.”  Never  did 

the  student  forget  the  embarrassment  of  that  moment. 

While  a strong  feeling  of  opposition  against  him  was  grow- 
ing up  in  his  own  nation,  a feeling  which  such  works  as  the 
IVanderjahre  were  not  likely  to  mitigate,  his  fame  began  to 
extend  to  Italy,  England,  and  France.  His  active  interest 
in  the  important  productions  of  foreign  literature  was  recip- 
rocated in  the  admiration  expressed  for  him  by  men  like 
Manzoni,  Scott,  Byron,  Carlyle,  Stapfer,  Ampere,  Soret,  and 
others.  He  had  written  of  Manzoni’s  Carmagnola , defending 
it  against  adverse  criticism,  with  a fervor  which,  according 
to  Manzoni,  secured  his  reputation  in  Europe.  “ It  is  cer- 
tain that  I owe  to  Goethe’s  admiration  all  the  praise  I have 
received.  I was  very  ill-treated  until  he  so  nobly  defended 
me,  and  since  then  I have  not  only  seen  public  opinion 
change,  but  I myself  have  learned  to  look  at  my  productions 
in  a new  light.”  How  profound  was  his  admiration  for  Byron, 
and  how  flattered  Byron  was  by  it,  is  well  known.  The  poem 
he  sent  to  Byron,  in  answer  to  the  dedication  of  Werner , 
reached  him  just  as  he  was  setting  out  on  the  expedition  to 
Greece. 

Nor  was  his  activity  confined  to  reading.  Oersted’s  mag- 
nificent discovery  of  electro-magnetism  awakened  his  keenest 
interest.  He  made  Dobereiner  exhibit  the  phenomena, 
and  shortly  afterwards  had  Oersted  to  visit  him.  D’Alton’s 
anatomical  work  on  the  Sloth  and  Megatherium  found  him  as 
ready  as  a young  reviewer  to  proclaim  its  importance  to  the 
world.  He  wrote  also  the  account  of  his  Campaign  in 
France;  the  Annals  of  his  Life;  Essays  on  Art;  smaller 
poems ; the  epigrams,  Zahme  Xenien ; translated  modern 
Greek  songs ; and  sketched  a restoration  of  the  lost  drama 
Phaeton , by  Euripides. 


1823.] 


THE  ACTIVITY  OF  AGE. 


393 


It  is  evident  then  that  there  was  abundant  life  in  the  old 
Jupiter,  whose  frame  was  still  massive  and  erect;  whose 
brow  had  scarcely  a wrinkle  of  old  age  ; whose  head  was 
still  as  free  from  baldness  as  ever ; and  whose  large  brown 
eyes  had  still  that  flashing  splendor  which  distinguished 
them.  Hufeland,  the  physician,  who  had  made  a special 
study  of  the  human  organization  with  reference  to  its  powers 
of  vitality,  says,  that  never  did  he  meet  with  a man  in  whom 
bodily  and  mental  organization  were  so  perfect  as  in  Goethe. 

Not  only  life,  but  the  life  of  life,  the  power  of  loving,  was 
still  preserved  to  him.  Quisquis  amat , nulla  est  conditione 
senex,  says  old  Pontanus  ; and  the  Marquis  de  Lassay  prettily 
makes  the  loss  of  love-dreams  a sign  of  the  last  sleep : 
“ Helas,  quand  on  commence  h ne  plus  rever,  ou  plutot  a 
rever  moins,  on  est  pres  de  s’endormir  pour  toujours.”  In 
the  seventy-fourth  year  of  his  age,  Goethe  had  still  youth 
enough  to  love.  At  Marienbad  he  met  with  a Fraulein  von 
Lewezow.  A passion  grew  up  between  them,  which,  re- 
turned on  her  side  with  almost  equal  vehemence,  brought 
back  to  him  once  more  the  exaltation  of  the  Werther  period. 
It  was  thought  he  would  marry  her,  and  indeed  he  wished  to 
do  so  ; but  the  representations  of  his  friends,  and  perhaps 
the  fear  of  ridicule,  withheld  him.  He  tore  himself  away  ; 
and  the  Marienbad  Elegy,  which  he  wrote  in  the  carriage 
as  it  whirled  him  away,  remains  as  a token  of  the  passion 
and  his  suffering. 

Nor  does  the  Fraulein  von  Lewezow  appear  to  have  been 
the  only  one  captivated  by  the  “ old  man  eloquent.”  Madame 
Szymanowska,  according  to  Zelter,  was  “ madly  in  love  ” with 
him  ; and  however  figurative  such  a phrase  may  be,  it  indi- 
cates, coming  from  so  grave  a man  as  Zelter,  a warmth  of 
enthusiasm  one  does  not  expect  to  see  excited  by  a man 
of  seventy-four. 

. 17* 


394 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


In  the  following  year  Germany  showed  her  gratitude  to 
him  by  a privilege  which  in  itself  was  the  severest  sarcasm  on 
German  nationality,  — the  privilege,  namely,  of  a protection 
of  his  copyright.  He  announced  a complete  editon  of  his 
works,  and  the  Bundestag  undertook  to  secure  him  from  piracy 
in  German  cities.  Until  that  time  his  works  had  enriched 
booksellers  ; but  this  tardy  privilege  secured  an  inheritance 
for  his  children. 

In  the  way  of  honors,  he  was  greatly  flattered  by  the  letter 
which  Walter  Scott  sent  to  him,  in  expression  of  an  old 
admiration;  and  on  the  28th  of  August,  1827,  Karl  August 
came  into  his  study,  accompanied  by  the  King  of  Bavaria, 
who  brought  with  him  the  Order  of  the  Grand  Cross  as  a 
homage.  In  strict  etiquette  a subject  was  not  allowed  to 
accept  such  an  Order  without  his  own  sovereign’s  permission, 
and  Goethe,  ever  punctilious,  turned  to  the  Grand  Duke, 
saying,  “ If  my  gracious  sovereign  permits.”  Upon  which 
the  Duke  called  out,  “ Du  alter  Kerl ! mache  doch  kein 
dummes  Zeug ! Come,  old  fellow,  no  nonsense.” 

On  the  6th  of  January,  1827,  the  Frau  von  Stein  died,  in 
her  eighty-fifth  year.  And  now  the  good  old  Duke,  whom  he 
affectionately  styled  his  Waffenbruder,  — his  brother  in  arms, 
— was  to  be  taken  from  him.  On  the  14th  of  June,  1828,  he 
was  no  more. 

Knowing  Goethe’s  love  for  the  Duke,  his  friends  entertained 
great  fears  that  the  shock  of  this  event  would  be  terrible.  He 
was  seated  at  dinner  when  the  news  arrived.  It  was  whis- 
pered from  one  to  the  other.  At  length  it  was  gently  broken 
to  him.  They  were  breathless  with  suspense.  But  his  face 
remained  quite  calm,  — a calmness  which  betrayed  him.  “ Ah ! 
this  is  very  sad,”  he  sighed;  “let  us  change  the  subject.” 
He  might  banish  the  subject  from  conversation,  he  could  not 
banish  it  from  his  thoughts.  It  affected  him  deeply ; all  the 


1830.] 


THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 


395 


more  so,  because  he  did  not  give  expression  to  his  grief. 
“ Nun  ist  alles  vorbeil  Nothing  now  remains,”  he  said. 
When  Eckermann  came  in  the  evening,  he  found  him  utterly 
prostrate.* 

Retiring  to  the  pleasant  scenes  of  Dornburg,  the  old  man 
strove  in  work  and  in  contemplation  of  nature  to  call  away  his 
thoughts  from  his  painful  loss.  The  next  year — 1829  — 
he  finished  the  Wanderjahre  in  the  form  it  now  assumes, 
worked  at  the  Second  Part  of  Faust , and  in  conjunction  with 
a young  Frenchman,  Soret,  who  was  occupied  in  translating 
the  Metamorphoses  of  Plants,  revised  his  scientific  papers. 

In  February,  1830,  the  death  of  the  Grand  Duchess  once 
more  overshadowed  the  evening  of  his  life.  These  clouds 
gathering  so  fast  are  significant  warnings  of  the  Night  which 
hurries  on  for  him,  — “the  night  in  which  no  man  can  work” ! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 

The  spring  of  1830  found  Goethe  in  his  eighty-first  year, 
busy  with  Faust , writing  the  preface  to  Carlyle’s  Life  of 

* The  calmness  with  which  he  received  the  announcement  recalls  those 
grand  scenes  in  Marston’s  Malcontent  and  Ford’s  Broken  Heart , where 
the  subordination  of  emotion  to  the  continuance  of  offices  of  politeness 
rises  into  sublimity.  Herodotus  has  touched  the  same  chord  in  his  nar- 
rative of  the  terrific  story  of  Thyestes  {Clio,  119).  Harpagus,  on  discov- 
ering that  he  has  feasted  on  his  own  children  in  the  banquet  set  before 
him  by  Thyestes,  remains  quite  calm.  Shakespeare  has  expressed  the 
true  philosophy  of  the  matter  in  his  usual  pregnant  language : — 

“ Give  sorrow  words  : the  grief  that  does  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o’erfraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break.” 


396 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


Schiller , and  deeply  interested  in  the  great  philosophical  con- 
test which  was  raging  in  Paris,  between  Cuvier  and  Geoffroy 
St.  Hilaire,  on  the  question  of  Unity  of  Composition  in  the 
Animal  Kingdom.  This  question,  one  of  the  many  important 
and  profound  questions  which  are  now  agitated  in  Biology, 
which  lies,  indeed,  at  the  bottom  of  almost  all  speculations 
on  Development,  had  for  very  many  years  been  answered  by 
Goethe  in  the  spirit  which  he  recognized  in  Geoffroy  St. 
Hilaire  ; and  it  was  to  him  a matter  of  keen  delight  to 
observe  the  world  of  science  earnestly  bent  on  a solution  of 
the  question.  The  anecdote  which  M.  Soret  narrates  in  the 
supplemental  volume  to  Eckermann’s  conversations  is  very 
characteristic. 

“ Monday,  ist  August,  1830.  The  news  of  the  Revolution 
of  July  reached  Weimar  to-day,  and  set  every  one  in  commo- 
tion. I went  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon  to  Goethe. 
‘ Now,’  exclaimed  he,  as  I entered,  ‘what  do  you  think  of  this 
great  event  ? The  volcano  has  come  to  an  eruption  ; every- 
thing is  in  flames.’  ‘ A frightful  story,’  I answered ; ‘ but 
what  could  be  expected  otherwise  under  such  notoriously  bad 
circumstances  and  with  such  a ministry,  than  that  the  whole 
would  end  in  the  expulsion  of  the  royal  family  ? ’ ‘We  do  not 
appear  to  understand  each  other,  my  good  friend,’  said 
Goethe  ; ‘I  am  not  speaking  of  those  people,  but  of  some- 
thing quite  different.  I am  speaking  of  the  contest  so  impor- 
tant for  science  between  Cuvier  and  Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire, 
which  has  come  to  an  open  rupture  in  the  Academy.’  This 
expression  of  Goethe’s  was  so  unexpected  that  I did  not 
know  what  to  say,  and  for  some  minutes  was  perfectly  at  a 
standstill.  ‘The  matter  is  of  the  highest  importance,’  he 
continued ; ‘ and  you  can  form  no  conception  of  what  I felt 
at  the  intelligence  of  the  stance  of  the  19th  July.  We  have 
»ow  in  Geoffroy  a powerful  and  permanent  ally.  I see  how 


1830.1 


THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 


397 


great  must  be  the  interest  of  the  French  scientific  world  in 
this  affair ; because,  notwithstanding  the  terrible  political 
commotion,  the  sea?ice  of  the  19th  July  was  very  fully  attended. 
However,  the  best  of  it  is  that  the  synthetic  manner  of  look- 
ing at  Nature,  introduced  by  Geoffroy  into  France,  cannot  be 
kept  back  any  longer.  From  the  present  time  Mind  will  rule 
over  Matter  in  the  scientific  investigations  of  the  French. 
There  will  be  glances  of  the  great  maxims  of  creation,  — of 
the  mysterious  workshop  of  God ! Besides,  what  is  all  inter- 
course with  Nature,  if  we  merely  occupy  ourselves  with  indi- 
vidual material  parts,  and  do  not  feel  the  breath  of  the  spirit 
which  prescribes  to  every  part  its  direction,  and  orders  or 
sanctions  every  deviation  by  means  of  an  inherent  law  ! I 
have  exerted  myself  in  this  great  question  for  fifty  years.  At 
first  I was  alone,  then  I found  support,  and  now  at  last  to  my 
great  joy  I am  surpassed  by  congenial  minds.’  ” 

Instead  of  exclaiming  against  the  coldness  of  the  man  who 
at  such  a moment  could  turn  from  politics  to  science,  let  us 
glance  at  a somewhat  parallel  case.  Englishmen  will  be  slow 
in  throwing  stones  at  the  immortal  Harvey  ; let  them  hear 
what  Dr.  Ent  reports.  Soon  after  the  most  agitating  event 
in  English  history,  — the  execution  of  Charles  I.,  — Dr.  Ent 
called  on  Harvey,  and  found  him  seeking  solace  in  anatomical 
researches.  “ Did  I not,”  said  the  great  philosopher,  “ find  a 
balm  for  my  spirit  in  the  memory  of  my  observations  of 
former  years,  I should  feel  little  desire  for  life.  But  so  it  has 
been  that  this  life  of  obscurity,  this  vacation  from  public 
business,  which  causes  tedium  and  disgust  to  so  many,  has 
proved  a sovereign  remedy  to  me.” 

Goethe  was  not  a politician,  and  he  was  a biologist.  His 
view  of  the  superior  importance  of  such  an  event  as  the  dis- 
cussion between  Geoffroy  and  Cuvier,  to  the  more  noisy  but 
intrinsically  less  remarkable  event,  the  Revolution  of  July,  is 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE . [book  vii. 

f a view  which  will  be  accepted  by  some  philosophers,  and 
rejected  by  all  politicians.  Goethe  was  not  content  with 
expressing  in  conversation  his  sense  of  the  importance  of  this 
discussion  ; he  also  commenced  the  writing  of  his  celebrated 
review  of  it,  and  finished  the  first  part  in  September. 

In  November  another  great  affliction  smote  him;  it  was 
the  last  he  had  to  bear : the  news  arrived  that  his  only  son, 
who  had  a little  while  before  gone  to  Italy  in  failing  health, 
had  died  in  Rome  on  the  28th  of  October.  The  sorrowing 
father  strove,  as  usual,  to  master  all  expression  of  emotion, 
and  to  banish  it  by  restless  work.  But  vain  was  the  effort  to 
live  down  this  climbing  sorrow.  The  trial  nearly  cost  him 
his  life.  A violent  hemorrhage  in  the  lungs  was  the  result. 
He  was  at  one  time  given  over ; but  he  rallied  again,  and  set 
once  more  to  work,  completing  the  Autobiography  and  con- 
tinuing Faust. 

Ottilie  von  Goethe,  the  widow  of  his  son,  and  his  great 
favorite,  devoted  herself  to  cheer  his  solitude.  She  read  Plu- 
tarch aloud  to  him  ; and  this,  with  Niebuhr’s  Roman  History, 
carried  him  amid  the  great  pageantries  of  the  past,  where  his 
antique  spirit  could  wander  as  among  friends.  Nor  was  the 
present  disregarded.  He  read  with  the  eagerness  of  youth 
whatever  was  produced  by  remarkable  writers,  such  as  Beran- 
ger,  Victor  Hugo,  Delavigne,  Scott,  or  Carlyle.  He  received 
the  homage  of  Europe  ; his  rooms  were  constantly  brightened 
by  the  presence  of  illustrious  visitors,  among  whom  the 
English  were  always  welcome. 

Among  the  English  who  lived  at  Weimar  during  those  days 
was  a youth  whose  name  is  now  carried  in  triumph  wherever 
English  Literature  is  cherished, — I allude  to  William  Make- 
peace Thackeray ; and  Weimar  albums  still  display  with 
pride  the  caricatures  which  the  young  satirist  sketched  at  that 
period.  He  has  kindly  enabled  me  to  enrich  these  pages 


830-] 


THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 


399 

with  a brief  account  of  his  reminiscences,  gracefully  sketched 
in  the  following  letter  : — 

“ London,  28th  April,  1855. 

“Dear  Lewes,  — I wish  I had  more  to  tell  you  regarding 
Weimar  and  Goethe.  Five-and-twenty  years  ago,  at  least  a score 
of  young  English  lads  used  to  live  at  Weimar  for  study,  or  sport, 
or  society  ; all  of  which  were  to  be  had  in  the  friendly  little  Saxon 
capital.  The  Grand  Duke  and  Duchess  received  us  with  the 
kindliest  hospitality.  The  court  was  splendid,  but  yet  most 
pleasant  and  homely.  We  were  invited  in  our  turns  to  dinners, 
balls,  and  assemblies  there.  Such  young  men  as  had  a right, 
appeared  in  uniforms,  diplomatic  and  military.  Some,  I remem- 
ber, invented  gorgeous  clothing:  the  kind  old  Hof  Marschall  of 
those  days,  M.  de  Spiegel  (who  had  two  of  the  most  lovely 
daughters  eyes  ever  looked  on),  beinglin  nowise  difficult  as  to  the 
admission  of  these  young  Englanders!^  Of  the  winter  nights  we 
used  to  charter  sedan  chairs,  in  which  we  were  carried  through 
the  snow  to  those  pleasant  court  entertainments.  I for  my  part 
had  the  good  luck  to  purchase  Schiller’s  sword,  which  formed  a 
part  of  my  court  costume,  and  still  hangs  in  my  study,  and  puts 
me  in  mind  of  days  of  youth,  the  most  kindly  and  delightful. 

“We  knew  the  whole  society  of  the  little  city,  and  but  that  the 
young  ladies,  one  and  all,  spoke  admirable  English,  we  surely 
might  have  learned  the  very  best  German.  The  society  met 
constantly.  The  ladies  of  the  court  had  their  evenings.  The 
theatre  was  open  twice  or  thrice  in  the  week,  where  we  assem- 
bled, a large  family  party.  Goethe  had  retired  from  the  direction, 
but  the  great  traditions  remained  still.  The  theatre  was 
admirably  conducted ; and  besides  the  excellent  Weimar  com- 
pany, famous  actors  and  singers  from  various  parts  of  Germany 
performed  Gastrolle * through  the  winter.  In  that  winter  I 
remember  we  had  Ludwig  Devrient  in  Shylock,  Hamlet,  Falstaff, 
and  the  Robbers ; and  the  beautiful  Schroder  in  Fidelio. 

“ After  three-and-twenty  years’  absence,  I passed  a couple  of 
summer  days  in  the  well-remembered  place,  and  was  fortunate 

* What  in  England  are  called  “ starring  engagements.” 


400 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 

enough  to  find  some  of  the  friends  of  my  youth.  Madame  de 
Goethe  was  there,  and  received  me  and  my  daughters  with  the 
kindness  of  old  days.  We  drank  tea  in  the  open  air,  at  the 
famous  cottage  in  the  park,*  which  still  belongs  to  the  family, 
and  had  been  so  often  inhabited  by  her  illustrious  father. 

“ In  1831,  though  he  had  retired  from  the  world,  Goethe  would 
nevertheless  very  kindly  receive  strangers.  His  daughter-in-law’s 
tea-table  was  always  spread  for  us.  We  passed  hours  after 
hours  there,  and  night  after  night  with  the  pleasantest  talk  and 
music.  We  read  over  endless  novels  and  poems  in  French, 
English,  and  German.  My  delight  in  those  days  was  to  make 
caricatures  for  children.  I was  touched  to  find  that  they  were 
remembered,  and  some  even  kept  until  the  present  time  ; and 
very  proud  to  be  told,  as  a lad,  that  the  great  Goethe  had  looked 
at  some  of  them. 

“ He  remained  in  his  private  apartments,  where  only  a very  few 
privileged  persons  were  admitted;  but  he  liked  to  know  all  that 
was  happening,  and  interested  himself  about  all  strangers. 
Whenever  a countenance  struck  his  fancy,  there  was  an  artist 
settled  in  Weimar  who  made  a portrait  of  it.  Goethe  had  quite  a 
gallery  of  heads,  in  black  and  white,  taken  by  this  painter.  His 
house  was  all  over  pictures,  drawings,  casts,  statues,  and  medals. 

“Of  course  I remember  very  well  the*  perturbation  of  spirit  with 
which,  as  a lad  of  nineteen,  I received  the  long-expected  intima- 
tion that  the  Herr  Geheimerath  would  see  me  on  such  a morning. 
This  notable  audience  took  place  in  a little  antechamber  of  his 
private  apartments,  covered  all  round  with  antique  casts  and 
bas-reliefs.  He  was  habited  in  a long  gray  or  drab  redingot, 
with  a white  neckcloth  and  a red  ribbon  in  his  buttonhole.  He 
kept  his  hands  behind  his  back,  just  as  in  Rauch’s  statuette. 
His  complexion  was  very  bright,  clear,  and  rosy.  His  eyes  ex- 
traordinarily dark,f  piercing,  and  brilliant.  I felt  quite  afraid 
before  them,  and  recollect  comparing  them  to  the  eyes  of  the 

* The  Gartenhaus. 

t This  must  have  been  the  effect  of  the  position  in  which  he  sat  with 
regard  to  the  light.  Goethe’s  eyes  were  dark  brown,  but  not  very  dark. 


1830.] 


THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 


401 


hero  of  a certain  romance  called  Melmoth  the  Wanderer , which 
used  to  alarm  us  boys  thirty  years  ago  ; eyes  of  an  individual  who 
had  made  a bargain  with  a Certain  Person,  and  at  an  extreme  old 
age  retained  these  eyes  in  all  their  awful  splendor.  I fancied 
Goethe  must  have  been  still  more  handsome  as  an  old  man  than 
even  in  the  days  of  his  youth.  His  voice  was  very  rich  and  sweet. 
He  asked  me  questions  about  myself,  which  I answered  as  best 
I could.  I recollect  I was  at  first  astonished,  and  then  some- 
what relieved,  when  I found  he  spoke  French  with  not  a good 
accent. 

“ Vidi  iantum.  I saw  him  but  three  times.  Once  walking  in 
the  garden  of  his  house  in  the  Frauenpla7i;  once  going  to  step 
into  his  chariot  on  a sunshiny  day,  wearing  a cap  and  a cloak 
with  a red  collar.  He  was  caressing  at  the  time  a beautiful  little 
golden-haired  granddaughter,  over  whose  sweet  fair  face  the  earth 
has  long  since  closed  too. 

“ Any  of  us  who  had  books  or  magazines  from  England  sent 
them  to  him,  and  he  examined  them  eagerly.  Fraser’s  Magazme 
had  lately  come  out,  and  I remember  he  was  interested  in  those 
admirable  outline  portraits  which  appeared  for  a while  in  its  pages. 
But  there  was  one,  a very  ghastly  caricature  of  Mr.  Rogers,  which, 
as  Madame  de  Goethe  told  me,  he  shut  up  and  put  away  from 
him  angrily.  ‘They  would  make  me  look  like  that,’  he  said; 
though  in  truth  I can  fancy  nothing  more  serene,  majestic,  and 
healthy  looking  than  the  grand  old  Goethe. 

“ Though  his  sun  was  setting,  the  sky  round  about  was  calm 
and  bright,  and  that  little  Weimar  illumined  by  it.  In  every  one 
of  those  kind  salons  the  talk  was  still  of  art  and  letters.  The 
theatre,  though  possessing  no  very  extraordinary  actors,  was  still 
conducted  with  a noble  intelligence  and  order.  The  actors  read 
books,  and  were  men  of  letters  and  gentlemen,  holding  a not 
unkindly  relationship  with  the  Adel.  At  court  the  conversation 
was  exceedingly  friendly,  simple,  and  polished.  The  Grand 
Duchess  [the  present  Grand  Duchess  Dowager],  a lady  of  very 
remarkable  endowments,  would  kindly  borrow  our  books  from  us, 
lend  us  her  own,  and  graciously  talk  to  us  young  men  about  our 

z 


402  THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 

literary  tastes  and  pursuits.  In  the  respect  paid  by  this  court  to 
the  Patriarch  of  letters,  there  was  something  ennobling,  I think, 
alike  to  the  subject  and  sovereign.  With  a five-and-twenty  years’ 
experience  since  those  happy  days  of  which  I write,  and  an 
acquaintance  with  an  immense  variety  of  human  kind,  I think 
I have  never  seen  a society  more  simple,  charitable,  courteous, 
gentlemanlike  than  that  of  the  dear  little  Saxon  city,  where  the 
good  Schiller  and  the  great  Goethe  lived  and  lie  buried. 

“Very  sincerely  yours, 

“ W.  M.  Thackeray.” 

His  last  secretary,  Krauter,  who  never  speaks  of  him  but 
with  idolatry,  describes  his  activity  even  at  this  advanced  age 
as  something  prodigious.  It  was  moreover  systematic.  A 
certain  time  of  the  day  was  devoted  to  his  correspondence  ; 
then  came  the  arrangement  of  his  papers,  or  the  completion 
of  works  long  commenced.  One  fine  spring  morning,  Krauter 
tells  me,  Goethe  said  to  him,  “ Come,  we  will  cease  dictation  \ 
it  is  a pity  such  fine  weather  should  not  be  enjoyed  : let  us 
go  into  the  park  and  do  a bit  of  work  there.”  Krauter  took 
the  necessary  books  and  papers,  and  followed  his  master, 
who,  in  his  long  blue  overcoat,  a blue  cap  on  his  head,  and 
his  hands  in  the  customary  attitude  behind  his  back,  marched 
on,  upright  and  imposing.  Those  who  remember  Rauch’s 
statuette  will  picture  to  themselves  the  figure  of  the  old  man 
in  his  ordinary  attitude ; but  perhaps  they  cannot  fully  picture 
to  themselves  the  imposing  effect  of  that  Jupiter-head  which, 
on  this  occasion,  arrested  an  old  peasant,  and  so  absorbed 
him,  that  leaning  his  hands  upon  his  rake,  and  resting  his 
chin  upon  his  hands,  he  gazed  on  the  spectacle  in  forgetful- 
ness so  complete  that  he  did  not  move  out  of  the  way,  but 
stood  gazing  immovable,  while  Krauter  had  to  step  aside  to 
pass. 

It  is  usually  said,  indeed,  that  Goethe  showed  no  signs  of 
age  ; but  this  is  one  of  the  exaggerations  which  the  laxity  of 


THE  CLOSING  SCENES. 


403 


1830] 

ordinary  speech  permits  itself.  His  intellect  preserved  a 
wonderful  clearness  and  activity,  as  we  know  ; and,  indeed, 
the  man  who  wrote  the  essay  on  Cuvier  and  Geoffroy’s  dis- 
cussion, and  who  completed  the  Faust  in  his  eighty-second 
year,  may  fairly  claim  a place  among  the  Nestors  for  whom 
remains 

“ Some  work  of  noble  note, 

Not  unbecoming  men  who  strove  with  gods.’* 

But  the  biographer  is  bound  to  record  that  in  his  intellect,  as 
in  his  body,  the  old  man  showed  unmistakably  that  he  was 
old.  His  hearing  became  noticeably  impaired  ; his  memory 
of  recent  occurrences  was  extremely  treacherous  ; but  his 
eyesight  remained  strong*  and  his  appetite  good.  In  the 
later  years  of  his  life  he  presented  a striking  contrast  to  the 
earlier  years  in  his  preference  for  close  rooms.  The  heated 
and  impure  atmosphere  of  an  unventilated  room  was  to  him 
so  agreeable  that  it  was  difficult  to  persuade  him  to  have  a 
window  open  for  the  purpose  of  ventilation.  Always  disliking 
the  cold,  and  longing  for  warmth  like  a child  of  the  South,  he 
sat  in  rooms  so  heated  that  he  was  constantly  taking  cold. 
This  did  not  prevent  his  enjoyment  of  the  fresh  air  when  he 
was  in  the  country.  The  mountain  air  of  Ilmenau,  especially, 
seemed  to  give  him  health  and  enjoyment.  It  was  to  Ilmenau 
he  went  to  escape  from  the  festivities  preparing  for  his  last 
birthday.  He  ascended  the  lovely  heights  of  the  Gickelhahn, 
and  went  into  the  wood  hut  where  so  many  happy  days  had 
been  spent  with  Karl  August.  There  he  saw  on  the  wall 
those  lines  he  had  years  before  written  in  pencil,  — 

“ Ueber  alien  Gipfeln 
1st  Ruh, 

In  alien  Wipfeln 
Spiirest  du 
Kaum  einen  Hauch ; 


404 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE’S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 

Die  Vogel ein  schweigen  im  Walde. 

Warte  nur,  balde 
Ruhest  du  auch.” 

And  wiping  the  tears  from  his  eyes,  — tears  which  rose  at  the 
memory  of  Karl  August,  Charlotte  von  Stein,  and  his  own 
happy  youth,  -1—  he  repeated  the  last  line,  “ warte  nur , 

balde  ruhest  du  auch.  — Yes,  wait  but  a little,  soon  wilt  thou 
too  be  at  rest.” 

That  rest  was  nearer  than  any  one  expected.  On  the 
1 6th  of  March  following,  his  grandson,  Wolfgang,  coming 
into  his  room  as  usual  to  breakfast  with  him,  found  him  still 
in  bed.  The  day  before,  in  passing  from  his  heated  room 
across  the  garden,  he  had  taken  cold.  The  physician,  on 
arriving,  found  him  very  feverish,  with  what  is  known  in 
Weimar  as  the  “ nervous  fever,”  which  acts  almost  like  a 
pestilence.  With  the  aid  of  remedies,  however,  he  rallied 
towards  evening,  and  became  talkative  and  jocose.  On  the 
17  th  he  was  so  much  better  that  he  dictated  a long  letter  to 
W.  von  Humboldt.  All  thought  of  danger  ceased.  But 
during  the  night  of  the  19th,  having  gone  off  into  a soft 
sleep,  he  awoke  about  midnight,  with  hands  and  feet  icy 
cold,  and  fierce  pain  and  oppression  of  the  chest.  He  would 
not  have  the  physician  disturbed,  however,  for  he  said  there 
was  no  danger,  only  pain.  But  when  the  physician  came  in 
the  morning,  he  found  that  a fearful  change  had  taken  place. 
His  teeth  chattered  with  the  cold.  The  pain  in  his  chest 
made  him  groan,  and  sometimes  call  out  aloud.  He  could 
not  rest  in  one  place,  but  tossed  about  in  bed,  seeking  in 
vain  a more  endurable  position.  His  face  was  ashen  gray ; 
the  eyes,  deep  sunk  in  the  sockets,  were  dull,  and  the  glance 
was  that  of  one  conscious  of  the  presence  of  death.  After 
a time  these  fearful  symptoms  were  allayed,  and  he  was 
removed  from  his  bed  into  the  easy-chair,  which  stood  at 


IS30.] 


THE  CLOSING  SCENES 


405 


his  bedside.  There,  towards  evening,  he  was  once  more 
restored  to  perfect  calmness,  and  spoke  with  clearness  and 
interest  of  ordinary  matters;  especially  pleased  he  was  to 
hear  that  his  appeal  for  a young  artist,  a proteg had  been 
successful ; and  with  a trembling  hand  he  signed  an  official 
paper  which  secured  a pension  to  another  artist,  a young 
Weimar  lady,  for  whom  he  had  interested  himself. 

On  the  following  day,  the  approach  of  death  was  evident. 
The  painful  symptoms  were  gone.  But  his  senses  began  to 
fail  him,  and  he  had  moments  of  unconsciousness.  He  sat 
quiet  in  the  chair,  spoke  kindly  to  those  around  him,  and 
made  his  servant  bring  Salvandy’s  Seize  Mois , ou  la  Revolu- 
tion et  les  Revolutionnaires , which  he  had  been  reading  when 
he  fell  ill ; but  after  turning  over  the  leaves,  he  laid  it  down, 
feeling  himself  too  ill  to  read.  He  bade  them  bring  him  the 
list  of  all  the  persons  who  had  called  to  inquire  after  his 
health,  and  remarked  that  such  evidence  of  sympathy  was 
not  to  be  forgotten  when  he  recovered.  He  sent  every  one 
to  bed  that  night,  except  his  copyist.  He  would  not  even 
allow  his  old  servant  to  sit  up  with  him,  but  insisted  on  his 
lying  down  to  get  the  rest  he  so  much  needed. 

The  following  morning  — it  was  the  22d  March,  1832  — 
he  tried  to  walk  a little  up  and  down  the  room,  but,  after  a 
turn,  he  found  himself  too  feeble  to  continue.  Reseating 
himself  in  the  easy-chair,  he  chatted  cheerfully  with  Ottilie 
on  the  approaching  spring,  which  would  be  sure  to  restore 
him.  He  had  no  idea  of  his  end  being  so  near. 

The  name  of  Ottilie  was  frequently  on  his  lips.  She  sat 
beside  him,  holding  his  hand  in  both  of  hers.  It  was  now 
observed  that  his  thoughts  began  to  wander  incoherently. 
“ See,”  he  exclaimed,  “ the  lovely  woman’s  head  — with 
black  curls — in  splendid  colors  — a dark  background!” 
Presently,  he  saw  a piece  of  paper  on  the  floor,  and  asked 


406 


THE  STORY  OF  GOETHE'S  LIFE.  [book  vii. 


them  how  they  could  leave  Schiller’s  letters  so  carelessly 
lying  about.  Then  he  slept  softly,  and,  on  awakening,  asked 
for  the  sketches  he  had  just  seen.  These  were  the  sketches 
seen  in  a dream.  In  silent  anguish  the  close  now  so  surely 
approaching  was  awaited.  His  speech  was  becoming  less 
and  less  distinct.  The  last  words  audible  were,  « More 
light ! ” The  final  Darkness  grew  apace,  and  he  whose 
eternal  longings  had  been  for  more  Light  gave  a parting  cry 
for  it,  as  he  was  passing  under  the  shadow  of  Death. 

He  continued  to  express  himself  by  signs,  drawing  letters 
with  his  forefinger  in  the  air,  while  he  had  strength,  and 
finally,  as  life  ebbed,  drawing  figures  slowly  on  the  shawl 
which  covered  his  legs.  At  half  past  twelve  he  composed 
himself  in  the  corner  of  the  chair.  The  watcher  placed  a 
finger  on  her  lip  to  intimate  that  he  was  asleep.  If  sleep  it 
was,  it  was  a sleep  in  which  a great  life  glided  from  the 
world. 


THE  END. 


\ 


